Flight of the Hummingbird
by moreremusplease
Summary: He smiled softly, "A hummingbird is is capable of the most amazing feats despite its small size, they can travel great distances or fly backwards. They represent joy, love, and happiness. Hummingbirds teach us to go beyond time and to see that what happened in the past and what may happen in the future is not nearly as important as what is occurring now." Pairing HG/RL TimeTravel
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER** : The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

 **A/N** : There is no way I could have gotten to the point of publishing this story without the absolutely amazing Beta **ShayaLonnie**. Thank you so very much!

* * *

"Magnificent." The portly man smiled as he leaned heavily against the nearest work table to admire the results of countless hours of research and weeks of layering Containment Charms. He tilted his head to the side as he watched the light glint off the shining bronze, silver, and gold held behind the magically reinforced glass. _It really is a shame_ , he thought, _that this beauty is to be contained, but really it is all for the better._

After all, hadn't it only been a month ago that he'd found himself in a predicament like the one he now hoped to prevent? Now, after weeks had passed and he had finally made what he felt were the proper precautions, there was no need to repeat past mistakes yet again.

He had been lucky last time; lucky that when he had broken a Time-Turner that the Ministry House-elves had kept him hidden for the full extent of the week in which it took his original Timeline to catch up with him. He was also lucky to have had the mishap with such a newly created Turner, who knew the ramifications of such an accident with one of the older more valuable models. Catastrophic damage to the Timeline, lives ceasing to exist? No, no, he shook his head firmly; a week with elves was as good as a holiday compared to what may have been.

 _Thankfully_ , he smugly thought, _I have fixed the problem_. Since returning to his timeline, he had been at work making the magnificent cabinet that now stood finished before him. This marvel, this masterpiece, it would keep the Time-Turners safe. In fact, he chuckled, he'd bet nothing short of a distinctly strong Blasting Charm would break the magic he'd embedded in the piece.

He turned away from the fine cabinet, his work done and his deeds would, hopefully, suffice to stop any mishaps. Slowly, he made his way to another worktable still brimming with his own self-satisfaction, and indeed his own cleverness. All was right and that was how it would stay. Still, he had other matters to attend. Despite the desire to marvel at his own craftsmanship, he had to do his job.

The new recruits were notoriously messy creatures; gears and glass housings littered the workspace, chains and brass fittings hanging haphazardly off the worktables. It was really quite a marvel that they hadn't broken one of the more delicate pieces as he had. Yet, even if such a thing had happened and they, like he, were to secure proper lodging —out of the way of other wizard folk— their dastardly mistakes could have very well gone unnoticed had they also been able to resist the desires to change events. _Yes, the notion to make oneself wealthy or perhaps a second chance to woo some young chit_ he chuckled to himself. No, he decided, they were all extremely lucky to have _not_ had such an accident.

When the Department had instituted its mandatory once monthly night shift for all its workers, he had been less than overjoyed at the prospect of spending a night alone in the office. It was called the Department of Mysteries for a reason after all; mysterious things were known to happen now and again. Still, as he flicked his wand turning on the wizarding wireless that he kept at his workstation, he busied himself in straightening the delicate instruments strewn about the worktops. He decided he found it a most peaceful way to spend the evening. No young recruit complaining about keeping secrets of work from his witch, no wife complaining about being kept in the dark about his work. Honestly, you'd think the witch would bloody understand after forty years of his working in the Department the question "anything interesting happen at work today?" would go unanswered.

He cleaned up the mess of the workday, happily humming the newest Celestina Warbeck tune, envisioning the lovely young singer whose voice so entranced him; how she would smile and bat her eyes as he told her the danger and mystery involved in his highly secretive job. She would surely wish to write a song for him— "My Wizard of Mystery" or some such thing. Lost to his own self-amusement, he continued tidying up.

He was just humming the final chords of the melody and setting down another piece when a sudden crash echoed from behind him. The unexpected disruption to his silent sanctuary was enough to break him from his musings and quite nearly give him a heart attack.

He spun about with the agility of a wizard half his age, wand at the ready to defend himself against some yet unknown villain and was, for a moment, taken up short when he saw nothing within his line of sight which could have caused such a loud disruption. He started to slowly creep forward to where he thought to have heard the commotion when a soft whimper stopped him in his tracks.

He paused, the only sound that of his heavy breathing and the constant ticking of the surrounding timepieces when, yet again, he heard what he was now sure was a soft whimper of pain coming from just beneath his newly mounted cabinet. Peering around the table blocking the floor from view, he caught a glimpse of a small hand no bigger than that of a child clutching tightly to a wand with bloody battered fingers.

Still cautious he moved forward and saw the small hand attached to a dainty wrist and then an arm. As he rounded the table, the vision before him caused his apprehensive movement to cease and he swiftly dropped to his knee beside the tiny body of a young woman. She was dressed in some type of uniform similar to that of the students who attended Hogwarts, yet her young body was covered in signs of a struggle. Her grey jumper was singed along one side and he observed there were small cuts and abrasions welled with blood along her arms and stocking clad legs.

She moaned again, her eyes fluttering open and seemed to take in her surroundings before she noticed the man at her side. She parted her blood coated lips and tried to find her voice.

"No, no. You must not try to be speak. You're safe now," he told her, yet she shook her head slowly and struggled to form words.

"Need..." she whispered, "need Order..." She coughed roughly, spitting out a small amount of blood.

"Child, you mustn't speak," he said firmly. "Calm yourself, all is well and you shall receive all the help you need, I assure you," he rapidly spoke.

"No," the girl insisted, her voice becoming stronger with need. "Not well, he—Vol—" Her voice faltered as a cough racked her small frame. She reached a hand out to clutch his robes."He's here, we need..."

Her hand released from his robes when she saw him raise his wand against her chest. Once more, her words caught in her throat but she managed to squeak out a pleading, "No..."

"I'm truly sorry," he said shaking his head. "However, I did ask you to stop speaking. I do wish you would have listened."

Her eyes widened in fear as the aging wizard looked down. A bright flash of light was all she knew before her whole world became black.

* * *

Alone in a large manor some ways from The Ministry of Magic and all it contained, an elderly wizard sat in front of a dying fire, an untouched glass of aged Ogden's Finest in one hand and an even more aged photo in the other.

"I worry about the boy," he spoke to the smiling figure beneath the glass of the framed photo. "He's got himself into just so much trouble over the years. Him and his need to meddle and the continuous belief that he can make things better. Oh, now," he said scoffing at the photo, "I know what you're thinking. I've done a fair bit of that myself over the years and you're right, I have, but he's still just so . . . Is innocent even the right word? Can you still be innocent after all he's gone through?"

Lifting the glass to his lips and inhaling the warmth of its fumes, his eyes became unfocused as he gazed into the fire before him. It really was a confusing thing, this life he led. He remembered being a child as if it were just yesterday. Dreams of traveling the world, discovering new magics and changing the way things worked. He chuckled lowly to himself. Yes, there had been times he truly wished to— what was the saying? Shake things up a bit— _Yes, I would have liked that_ , he thought.

Still though, he may not have gone about things as he had planned, but he liked to think he had changed a fair bit in his time. Liked to think he still had plenty of years in his tired bones to properly "shake things up."

He looked longingly down at the picture frame in his other hand. Still though, it wouldn't be the same without his partner, _my better half_ , he thought wryly. _It would have been much nicer to make changes with loved ones at your side, but that simply was not what was meant to be_.

He contemplated that perhaps, after the summer was through, he might ask the boy his thoughts on making a few changes. He gazed around the old manor in which he sat, thinking that maybe it _was_ time to shake things up. Perhaps it was time to do away with this aging giant of days gone by and part ways with the comfort of memories, to instead dive head first into this rising battle that stood before them; a constant lurking blackness that threatened their very way of life.

 _Yes_ , he decided, change was in the air and it was time to embrace it fully. He brought the glass to his lips, the warm liquid within filling his senses as he prepared to toast to his future endeavors. The burning drink had barely past his lips when a bright light lit his dim quarters. Rising swiftly from the chair he snatched his wand from the nearby table, even as he struggled to suppress a violent coughing fit.

The bright light faded quickly, leaving a small timid Patronus of a field mouse in its wake. A moment later, the mouse opened its mouth and a panicked, squeaky voice filled the room. "Your presence is required," it spoke. "A _time sensitive_ issue has arisen of which it is my hopes you might assist in placing in order."

Shattered glass forgotten on the floor, he set the framed picture gently on the mantle and stroked an aged finger over the smiling face within. "Duty calls, my love," he whispered before taking a handful of sparkling green powder in his grasp and throwing it into the dying fire. "Ministry of Magic," he declared and disappeared into the swirling green flames.

* * *

Heavy footsteps echoed in the vast empty space of the Ministry Atrium as he walked briskly towards the lifts. A quick nod of acknowledgement towards the nightly security wizard as he passed through the golden gates and he was entering the lift and requesting transport to the ninth level. The doors opened onto a corridor dimly lit with flickering torches, and an agitated wizard standing by a plain black door at the end of the hall.

"You came!" the man squeaked, hurrying forward to shake the visitor's hand. "Thank you, I appreciate this."

"Nonsense, Saul. It seemed a matter of utmost importance, is it not?" he questioned.

"Oh, of the very most importance to be sure. I wouldn't dare call on the Aurors until you had the chance to . . . um . . . deal . . . with the matter," Saul stated, lifting an arm in invitation for the gentleman to follow him back toward the plain black door.

"Of course. Now, where is this _time sensitive issue_?"

"Right this way." Saul continued to lead him forward into a circular room consisting of black walls, floor, and ceiling. The only light within coming from flickering blue flames spaced between numerous doors. He continued speaking as he went."You see, I was just tidying up during my night shift."

He glanced back motioning at the open door, "If you'll just get the door. Yes, thank you." As soon as the door was shut the walls started to spin dizzily. The visitor shut his eyes to wait it out as Saul continued to speak, "When there was a loud — ah, there we go, right this way" Saul seemingly anxious to keep moving forward, led him swiftly through one of the doors. He had no doubt that whatever this disturbance was it must have been quite the interruption to the mousy man's evening to rile him in such a way.

They entered a room filled with bright sparkling light, such a difference from the dark circular room that he was momentarily blinded. Before his eyes had adjusted to the bright glare, he heard clocks relentlessly ticking, filling the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. After a moment, the bright glare diminished and he saw a long, narrow room filled with thousands of clocks that covered the walls and workstations. The source of the bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room. In the background, Celestina Warbeck's voice could be vaguely be heard on the wireless, the music barely louder than the thrum of the clocks. The workspaces were in a state of progressing cleanliness with some of the pieces still in need of proper placement, but that wasn't so distracting, not when compared to the odd sight that rested in one corner of the room.

He paused for a second to marvel at the body of a young girl that now rested on a settee off to the left of the room. The young witch looked as if she'd taken quite the beating with all the cuts and blood that adorned her small form. Odder still, was the large droplet of blood hanging from her fingertip yet refusing to fall.

"Stasis Charm,?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, well yes," Saul responded. "It did seem best considering her current condition. I'm certainly no healer, however, I did worry about possible internal injuries, you understand."

"Yes, of course,"The visitor nodded as he bent closer to get a better look at the girl. At first glance she had appeared not much more than a child, however now on closer inspection he'd guess her age to be sixteen or possibly seventeen years. He reached to push back her wild mane of hair and noted her brow furrowed even in sleep. _You've had quite the adventure today haven't you little one,_ he thought. "Has she been unconscious all this time? I imagine she didn't simply _appear_ neatly on this settee; where did you find the child?"

"Appear on the — oh, goodness no, no," Saul chuckled nervously.,"No, she — well, that is to say, I took the liberty of transfiguring a workstation for her and levitated her onto it after I placed the stasis . . . and . . . "he trailed off as he began fidgeting with his robes.

"And . . ."the visitor inquired, arching an eyebrow at the fidgeting man.

"Well, she was conscious for a short time. . ." Saul spoke while anxiously twisting his hands around a bit of his robes. "She tried to speak. Well, not tried really, she _did_ speak. She spoke . . . and, I stunned her," he finished in a rush, momentarily bracing himself for the repercussions of this action; when none came, he squared his shoulders and continued, "It is standard protocol in these types of situations to maintain a certain level of security, and . . . well . . . she spoke."

The visitor scoffed. "Yes, they tend to do that." He rolled his eyes turning to appraise the room for signs of struggle or damage. "Well, I suppose you best show me where you found her then, no use waking the girl at this point."

* * *

Saul's visitor crouched by the far wall, his dark eyes carefully scanning the debris spread before him. Broken glass, splintered wood, and twisted bits metal all scattered around the floor coated in a fine dusting of glittering sand; amongst the chaos, splatters of dark red blood. His brow furrowed as he glanced up at the cabinet mounted overhead.

"So, we have no doubt our young lady has taken a trip through time to come here this evening?" he asked, looking up to Saul.

"Yes, I believe so."

"So the question that begs asking is _how_?" the crouching man asked. "How would such a young witch come to find herself here, on this night, and in such a state?"

"Well, we can safely guess this was not an approved time jump," Saul said, gesturing to the broken pieces littering the floor. "I believe these pieces here are remnants of the cabinet I installed just this evening, and I assure you, I placed upon it every known Protection and Containment Charm I was able."

"Hmm, well the evidence suggests an altercation of some kind . . ." the visitor mumbled as he ran his finger along his lip.

"I thought the same, but a fight, a battle of some sort here? It doesn't make sense. We have the strongest protections of any department in the entire Ministry. How could a . . . well, a _school girl_ get past all the security and find herself under attack in the Department of Mysteries of all places? It makes no sense." Saul paced rapidly as he spoke, his arm waving about.

"No, it makes no sense we can see, but how else would a witch young as this find herself in this situation? Perhaps it is time to wake the girl and get some answers," the crouched man suggested as he braced the wall and straightened his old knees.

Saul looked momentarily panicked at the idea. "Wake and question her? Are you mad!? We can _not_ let her speak. We don't know where she came from or if she's aware of the laws of Time Travel. She could say something that lead to the world as we know it ceasing to exist; there could be catastrophic fall out at just a mere sentence."

"Do you really believe such things?" the visitor asked in concern. "Are these events you _truly believe_ will come to fortrution should she speak of the future?"

"It's protocol!" Saul yelled automatically before the stress finally got to him and he placed his head in his hands, silently admitting defeat. "I don't know. _We_ don't know."

"You've worked here since you left Hogwarts haven't you? So forty years now? You tell me, after these many years, day in day out, you don't know? You have an opinion surely."

"Forty-seven and you well know it," Saul said as he began to pace. "Of course I have an opinion. I have knowledge, but this, this is the depth of the mystery behind the Department. We search for the answers, look for the secrets, but some . . . they elude us."

Saul gestured to the large bell jar at the back of the room " _This_ ," he said as he gazed into the light pouring forth from the jar. "This is Time, my friend. The sands of the hourglass released into a timeless vacuum of space, allowed its own free will. It's infinite repetition at its finest is it not?" He smiled sadly at his visitor, his _friend_. "We don't know the true workings of Time. We study it we make educated guesses using arithmancy, but that's all it is, _guesses_. We don't truly know if we could change the future but we take all the precautions not to do it."

"How is it you are unaware?" his friend asked. "You, your department, has made an object able to move through Time itself and you say you don't understand it!"

"And what came first my friend?" Saul asked. "The hummingbird or the egg?" he asked, gesturing towards the bell jar once more. "Did you know we did not create the first Time-Turner? No, I can see by your face you didn't. Many centuries ago, in a history before it was recorded in books even, a Traveller arrived with an hourglass around his neck. He came with grand stories of a land in which he lived a place of amazing healing, a place with schools for magic, told in a time where wizards were feared and lived in hiding."

"A traveller . . . A _Time-Traveller?"_ his friend asked.

Saul nodded. "Yes, a Time-Traveller, most likely the first. He stayed for a while, learning amongst the other wizards. When he left . . . or perhaps died, no one remembers. He left behind a Turner." He said solemnly "He left the very first Turner and it has been studied ever since. Hundreds, thousands of years perhaps, and while we have learned to increase the sands, learned to magnify the power the distance which witches and wizards can travel, we still have yet to make the Sands of Time themselves," he confessed.

"So, these sands, they are all part of the original?" his friend questioned.

"Yes. So you see, we don't know what came first. Was the Traveller able to move through time because we developed the Turner he used? Or was the Turner he used created because he made a jump through time? We don't know. Not truly."

"So the girl then, what of her?" his friend asked. "Do we wake her only to silence her, most likely Obliviate her along with any knowledge of the future and who she is . . . Or do we let the egg hatch and see if we release a hummingbird?"


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

. . . but a girl can dream . . .

 **BETA:** Many, many thanks to **ShayaLonnie** for taking on the task of Beta, you're amazing!

Chapter 2

* * *

Hermione woke suddenly, pulled from unconsciousness, gasping for air. A strong light, temporarily blinded her as a sharp ticking sound pulsed through her throbbing head. She panicked. Unaware of her surroundings, she swept her hands over her body, searching for her wand.

"Miss," a voice called out through the light, the sound was hollow and distant in the chaos resonating within her head. "You've had an accident. Can you hear me?" She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision as the face of a man slowly broke through the glaring light. He spoke to her slowly, his eyes portraying concern, yet his presence, hovering over her aching body, caused her to pull away, an act she regretted immediately when she was overwhelmed by a sharp pain in her side. A large hand gripped her by the shoulder with surprising softness and she was shocked to see yet another man- this one seemingly much older than the first- standing over her. He smiled at her softly as he knelt by her side.

"You seemed to have had a bit of a rough night, little one," the older man said softly. "My friend Saul here was quite surprised to find you in his office," he added, motioning to the man that now stood behind him. She looked up at the person standing over her, wondering if she recognize him? He did seem familiar, but she couldn't quite place him.

"Now little one, we would like to help you very much. However, it is essential that you answer a few of our questions first. You must _only_ answer the questions we ask, that is very important. Do you understand?" She nodded hesitantly, watching warily as he raised a wand and muttered, " _Finite_."

" Please . . . " she rasped and found the disturbing taste of blood lingering on her tongue. The elderly man, noticing her discomfort, conjured a glass of water for her. The cuff of his left sleeve fell back slightly as he held the glass up to her split and swollen lips and she studied the skin there.

He noticed the direction her gaze traveled and laughed humorlessly. "Looking for something?" he asked as he slid first his right then his left sleeves up to the joint of his elbows revealing thin, unblemished arms. "A tattoo perhaps? I always wanted a hippogriff myself, but the missus strongly disagreed. How about you Saul?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers. "Janet ever let you get one? Bet you'd look fine with a dancing lady, eh?"

"Wha— ? Oh, oh no," Saul said as he quickly pushed back the sleeves of his robes. "None for me," he declared holding out both arms that, like his friend's, were unblemished but for a few freckles. Hermione made to speak again yet the elderly man raised his hand quickly, signaling her to wait.

"Please," he began soothingly. "I know you're confused right now and I'm sure you have many questions. All we ask is that you let us speak first and then, if we have not soothed your worries, you may let us know when we have finished. I willingly give you my oath as a wizard that we mean you no harm."

She watched as a soft light encompassed the tip of his wand, glowed softly for a moment, then pulsed once brightly before fading into nothingness. She blinked up at him slowly, recognising the signs of binding magic. He had made an actual wizard's oath to her and his magic accepted and sealed it. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest as she slowly nodded in consent.

"Very good. Now I'm going to ask you a few questions and you needn't speak yet a simple nod will do just fine. Do you understand?" he asked.

She squared her shoulders and met his eyes with a cool determination and nodded firmly, making not one sound.

"Very good. Now, you've been injured; it's nothing too serious. You do have a broken rib, but that's the worst of it other than a few cuts and scrapes. Do you remember how this happened?"

 _Chaos. Running. Screams. Flashes of lights flying through the air._

Nod.

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

She glanced around the brightly lit room and her eyes were drawn to the sparkling bell jar with its dazzling glow and delicate hummingbird. _It's Time . . . Time._

Nod.

"Wonderful, wonderful." He smiled encouragingly as his friend, Saul, stepped forward and placed something into his hand. "Now, I'm going to show you an object. I need to know if you are familiar with it," he said as he began to lift his left hand from where it sat clasped over the object in his right.

She watched as a long chain slowly rose from his right hand; It was delicate and shone brightly as the room's light glittered off its length and grew longer and longer until it swung free from the palm of his right hand, revealing a delicate pendant hanging from the end.

A pendant in the shape of an hourglass surrounded by two fine rings. _Time_.

She gasped as the jumbled thoughts and images in her head began to come together, fitting themselves into the current situation in which she found herself. Here with these two men in what was, assuming she identified it correctly, the Time Room deep within the Ministry of Magic. In the Department of Mysteries. She took in her surroundings once more, this time looking past the surface and into the details. There was a sense of controlled chaos in the room. Clocks and timepieces littered every available surface, yet they appeared in reasonable order. There were no signs of battle. No signs of any spell damage which she could see from her place laid out on a settee. There were no signs of her friends and she was suddenly struck with a thought she found most disturbing: she was alone.

Hermione gazed up at the two men standing before her, at the Time-Turner swaying gently at the end of its long shimmering chain, and nodded.

The second man, Saul, stepped forward now his eyes seemed sad as he addressed her, "Would it be safe to say that your knowledge of a Time-Turner extends to its basic use and safety measures?"

Nod.

"I'd like to allow you to speak now. I ask you to tell us what you understand about the uses and rules pertaining to Time-Turners. Just the basics," Saul said.

She looked between the two men once more. Saul wore robes similar to what she had read was the uniform of an Unspeakable, robes deep purple in color and, though it was pulled back at the moment, what looked to be a large hood which, when in place, would surely leave his face firmly encased in shadows. The elder man was a mystery. He wore traditional wizarding robes with no identifying markings as to what his place here in the Department of Mysteries might be, yet Saul acquiesced to him. They spoke kindly and she did not feel threatened; she was alone in their presence as well as unarmed and they had both proven they were unmarked. Though not all who followed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wore the mark.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she let the facts flow through her mind. _Fact: she was alone and she was unarmed._

She exhaled slowly. _Fact: she was injured; the pain in her side would slow any escape she might attempt._

Deep breath in. _Fact: if she had Travelled these men might be her only hope._

She exhaled as she opened her eyes and gazed up into the worried expressions of the two men. All she had in this moment was hope. She took a deep breath once more to center herself. It was all or nothing, she was placed into Gryffindor for a reason after all. As she exhaled once more she began to talk, vaguely aware of a voice in the back of her mind praying to Merlin that Snape hadn't, in fact, been correct in his assumption that Gryffindors were chosen for their foolishness.

"Sir, Time-Turners are used to send the person or persons who wear them travelling through time. For every hour Travelled, the Time-Turner must be turned once. The maximum use of a Turner extending back just five total hours. Time-Turners are potentially dangerous and thus are protected by the Ministry of Magic, who only give them out in very special circumstances. The consequences of using Time-Turners can be very serious; many wizards who have meddled with time, it's been reported, have ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake, not understanding how or why they are able to see themselves. In cases such as that of Eloise Mintumble, a witch working for the Department of Mysteries in the Time Division, Travel to the year 1402 was reported. In her five days spent in the past, her presence is believed to have caused great disturbance to the life paths of all those she met, changing the course of their lives so dramatically that no fewer than twenty-five of their descendants vanished in the present, having been un-born." She took a deep breath before mumbling, "if you believe such things."

The two men sat slack-jawed before her momentarily. "Well, you certainly do know your facts on Time-Turners don't you? That was quite a textbook definition if I do say so myself and having written said definition personally, I feel it is within my rights to say so. You don't seem to believe it though do you? Tell me, what do you find in my works to be untrue?"

Hermione released a strangled groan. _Sweet Mother of Merlin! Great job Granger. This is_ the _author of 'The Rules of Temporal Engagement' and you basically just implied you found his theory bogus, to his face no less!_

"W- well . . . well, yes." She paused to take a deep breath, centering herself before continuing. "I do find fault in the supposition that one can make any changes to the timeline. The theories, the _stories_ , you would have us believe don't seem to be based on any _true_ facts. The tales of wizards who have meddled with time ending up killing their past selves by mistake, for example. How is it that you would even know? How do you kill your past self yet still exist in the present having already died?

"As for the case of Eloise Mintumble," she scoffed, "they say upon arriving back in her present time, she immediately aged _500 years_ and died, _died!_ And we know she caused people to be 'un-born' how exactly? If this were true, there would never have been record of their existence in the first place as they were _never born_!" She threw her hands up at this in exasperation. "Not to mention the fact that each Time-Turner holds a single One-Hour Time Reversing Charm _meaning_ you have to turn the hourglass a single rotation for _each_ hour of reversal, that would mean over four million turns to reach 500 years."

She watched as the elder man placed a hand on Saul's shoulder and turned so they both faced away from her as they spoke in hushed voices. This was it; whatever happened next, she'd deal with it head held high. They turned back to face her after a moment and the elder man stepped forward to address her this time.

"Interesting opinions you have there,"he said. "You seem quite young to have such a strong view on the subject of time. Tell me, have you by chance used a Turner of your own in the past?" he asked, his eyes seeming to search hers for something.

 _Well,_ she thought, _I have nothing to hide here._ Professor McGonagall had gone through countless forms and she had had to get numerous letters of recommendation for her use of a Turner in third year. _Still though, they don't know about Sirius and the Dementors or Buckbeak . . . do they?_

"I-I did make use of a Turner for educational purposes in my third year," she supplied.

"I see," he said as he ran a finger over his lips. "And you never thought to use the Turner for any unapproved personal reasons? It seems that would be quite the temptation to a child of thirteen. Your Headmaster must have felt you extremely trustworthy to place such an object in your possession."

And here it was, her chance to get help to her friends . . . she hoped.

"Sir, I can honestly tell you I have never used a Time-Turner for _unapproved_ personal reasons. All my use of the Turner was performed under the understanding and, in some cases, direct guidance of my Headmaster." And there is was, laid before them. It was a risk, especially with the Minister and the media's current view of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Her heart was pounding rapidly as the two men watched her, both clearly deep in thought. Saul seemed almost nervous as he glanced between her and a cabinet on the far wall, his brow furrowed. The elderly gentleman watched her calmly with his head tilted to the side slightly, his warm hazel eyes alive with peaked curiosity.

"That's very interesting indeed. Tell me, during any of your _approved_ use of this Time-Turner, under the guidance of your Headmaster, did you happen to have any experience that may lead you to find fault in my friend's research? Perhaps you have your own personal reasons for thinking otherwise?"the elder man asked.

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "I did, in fact, have such an experience. A friend and I were entrusted with a . . . a task. We were asked to Travel back three hours time to right a great injustice. In doing so, we were able to rescue two innocents— "

"You knowingly changed history!" Saul gasped. "On what, the . . . the whim of a school teacher? Does the man not understand the risk to our world? You can not just change a person's destiny; you can't simply play with people like pawns on a chessboard!"

"Despite what some would care to believe, _sir,_ Albus Dumbledore is a great wizard, not a mere school teacher," Hermione stated firmly. "If you had let me finish I would have told you that we _did not_ change the future in any way."

"Oh, you didn't, did you? How could you not have when you say yourself you saved two innocents?" Saul asked.

"We did save them, but we changed nothing. We came upon dementors during our rescue attempt," she began. "No, no questions," she pleaded when the elder man looked to interrupt. "Let me say this, please. We came upon a group of dementors attacking our other selves. We knew this had happened already and we were saved by a mysterious Patronus. So, we waited for some wizard to come and save us but none came. My friend, he had had some lessons on Patronus Charms and attempted one yet it wasn't a full Patronus; the Dementors were so strong, yet we had _seen_ a Patronus coming towards us and well . . . it's so hard to explain, but he'd seen this Patronus and somehow he knew it was himself casting it. It gave him the confidence that he could do it and he did. He produced a full Patronus because he knew that somehow he had been able to do it before. Do you understand? We couldn't change things because we already had. _WE_ were the catalyst; we caused it all yet _changed_ nothing." She let her head fall back against the settee in exhaustion.

"Novikov's self-consistency conjecture," Saul stated, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips.

"Mind explaining for the laymen in the room?" asked the elderly man.

"Simply put, if someone were to travel back in time _no_ changes could _ever_ occur as it has all happened before. Interesting theory," Saul said as he turned back to Hermione." And you came to this conclusion as well did you?" he asked, "You're what? Sixteen years old?"

"Seventeen, sir. After the year-long use of a Time-Turner, of course," Hermione supplied.

Saul actually chuckled a bit at this, "Of course."

"So, if a wizard were to Travel to the past to change an event, it would not work because in changing the event the wizard would never have had a reason to make the trip to begin with," the elder man said, nodding in understanding.

"On and on it goes, the Traveler acts as a catalyst in any event they try and alter," Saul agreed, "and here we are."

"And here we are. I do believe this all leads us right back to you and your appearance here this evening, does it not?" the elder man asked.

"I believe it may indeed, sir," she stated firmly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Let's get straight to it then, shall we? Saul and I believe you have Travelled here to be with us tonight. Do you agree?" he asked.

"I've come to that conclusion as well."

"So this was not a _planned_ trip?"

"No. There was a fight, a battle. I think, somehow, I triggered a Time-Turner and wound up here," she said before taking a deep breath and pushing on, "I do, however, think this could be a very good thing. We . . . we could get help. We can let the Aurors know what's going to happen in a few hours and be prepared," she said eagerly.

"Yet you said yourself that the future can not be changed," Saul said.

"Well, not changed, but if they knew what was going to happen, they would be able to be ready. They could wait a bit and storm in when they least expect it!" Hermione supplied eagerly.

The two men exchanged a look and turned toward her once more. The elderly man addressed her softly, "Herein lies the problem, little one. You are under the impression that you Travelled a few hours. We, however, are unsure of the length of your trip."

"What?" she asked. "How can you be unsure? A Time-Turner travels a maximum of five hours. So what time is it now? It had to have been around eleven or so when I Travelled, so it can't be any earlier than six in the evening. That's not a big problem. You can hide me surely."

"It is currently half three in the morning, my dear." Saul supplied sadly.

"Half three? How is that even possible? Y-you said I Travelled. Everyone knows you can't Travel forward in time," she said as a cold feeling of dread began to settle in her stomach.

"Some Turners travel hours, these are used by Ministry employees under the strictest security," Saul explained. "There are others, however, that Travel weeks or months; these remain here in the Time Division and are studied by my colleagues and myself."

"Weeks . . . months?" She gasped.

"But— "

"No! No but, no we-we . . . just hide me. Or-or we contact Dumbledore, maybe he's still at the school? Has the Toad taken over yet?" She could feel panic rising in her chest. _Weeks. Months. How could this have happened?_ She needed to help her friends and now she'd just have to sit back and wait for her timeline to catch up. Just sit here and do nothing.

"Please, little one, you must stay calm and listen closely now," the elder man implored her. "Let Saul explain the situation to you, this is his area of expertise."

She struggled to focus her attention on to Saul, willing her pulse to slow.

"Now, while a Turner's typical Distance of Travel can be predetermined, some of our rarer pieces work along with other magical factors such as charms, potions, and the most powerful, Blood Magic," Saul explained. "We have reason to believe Blood Magic may have played a factor in your Travel."

"Blood Magic? No, that's impossible, I would never use Dark Magic!" Hermione insisted.

"Not all Blood Magic is Dark, and we don't believe you willingly set out to use it," the elderly man said. "You see, when Saul found you, you were surrounded by several broken Turners. You also were covered in small cuts and a significant amount of the Turner's sands as well."

"We believe you may have unknowingly triggered Blood Magic when the Sands of Time mixed with your open wounds. Now, don't panic. While your jump may have been more significant than you originally thought, it may not be all that far off," Saul explained. "You say Albus Dumbledore is Headmaster of Hogwarts, and that is quite true in our current time."

He said the last bit in hopes, she assumed, to lighten the weight currently bearing down on her chest.

"With all due respect, sir, Professor Dumbledore has been Headmaster of Hogwarts for several generations. Please, tell me what the current date is," she begged.

"Very well," the elder man said as he reached out to hold her hand. "We must, however, caution you that it is of utmost importance to remember the rules of Time Travel. Though you may be correct in your assumption that Time works as a loop, it could still be a very real danger to yourself and others if word got out that you were a Traveler," he cautioned her. "My friend Saul is, first and foremost, an Unspeakable stationed in the Time Division. If he believes you are a danger to the Timeline, or to witches or wizards in our time, measures will be taken. Do you understand what this means?"

She glanced back and forth between the two men once again. Their faces were stern and serious, yet their eyes held a certain sadness. _The sadness is for me,_ she thought, _they don't want to take measures against me_. She nodded firmly. She understood the measures that would be taken and accepted them.

"So be it," Saul stated. "It is currently approaching four a.m. on the twenty-third of June in the year nineteen seventy-eight."

* * *

 **A/N: So, Let me know what you think. This is new to me and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

. . . but a girl can dream . . .

BETA: Many, many thanks to ShayaLonnie for taking on the task of Beta, you're amazing!

* * *

 **23 June 1978**

 **Department of Mysteries**

In her life, Hermione Granger had built a wall around herself. It was a fine, tall wall, thick as a castle. She began it in early childhood, when playground bulliescalled her weird and pulled her hair; as teachers spoke of her oddness when they thought she couldn't hear; when her own parents would approach her with such caution after another unexplainable occurrence. She built her wall pebble by pebble, a neat and proper circle around herself to keep the hurtful words and looks away. Inside the protections of her magical ring of pebbles, little Hermione could hide away from it all. When she entered the Wizarding World, her wall grew even more. She built it strong through knowledge and fortified it with the deep belief that she had found where she was meant to be. Inside her wall, Hermione could breathe. Words like "know-it-all" and "Mudblood" could never penetrate it because she'd finally found where she belonged.

That wall was now crumbling.

"Nineteen _seventy-_ eight? You . . . you're . . . No! This is impossible, totally ridiculous. No, no, no, no, no. _Seventy-eight_?" Her heart was beating in an unnatural statico against her chest. This was _not_ happening. How in the name of Merlin could it be possible for her to be in the year nineteen seventy-eight? She wasn't even _born_ in 1978! "No. I refuse to believe this, it's simply preposterous. No, not at all possible. You mean to tell me I travelled back . . . how many . . . good Godric, that's eighteen years!"

She dropped back into the settee, her stomach suddenly feeling like lead. This was inconceivable. There was no going forward in Time Travel. She would have to wait this out . . . for eighteen years. Eighteen years without her family or friends. Would they even know her if she returned? Merlin, she'd be thirty-five years old . . . she'd be ancient!

The elder man chuckled. "A bit further than you expected I trust?"

"I'm sorry," she fumed as she glared at him. "Did you just laugh? Who laughs at a time like this? Who in the bloody hell are you anyway? _He_ works here," she screeched, pointing a shaking finger at Saul. "You . . . you've never said who you are. Where do you get off _laughing_ at a time like this?"

The elder man blushed, "You're right, of course, it was most uncouth to laugh when you're experiencing this terribly unfortunate event. I must confess, I do tend to find humour in the most unlikely of circumstances sometimes. My late wife found it charming," he said as he bowed his head to her. "I do beg your forgiveness, Miss."

"Fine," she huffed, "but that still doesn't answer the question. Who _are_ you?"

"Of course, my apologies. The name's Potter, Miss," he said bowing over her hand gallantly "Charlus Potter, Head of the House Potter, at your service."

If the walls of Hermione's world had begun to crumble at the impossible realisation that she was displaced in time eighteen years, they now remained nothing but a pile of ruins.

* * *

Charlus watched as the young woman's face blanched of all colour, her body seemingly sinking further still into the settee on which she rested. _Well,_ he thought, _never had quite that reaction on a lady before._ He caught Saul's eye and, with a tilt of his chin, indicated his friend follow him a few paces so they might speak privately.

"So, what do you think? Poor, lost amnesiac and most likely latest occupant of St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward . . . or Hummingbird?" Charlus cocked an eyebrow as he rocked back onto his heels.

"You're entirely too smug for your own good, old man," Saul chastised. "Besides, haven't you ever been told you shouldn't name a puppy? It makes it harder to put down later."

"Really, must you be so crude?" Charlus grimaced. "Are you telling me you didn't find her thoughts on Time Travel the least bit compelling? She clearly is aware of its governing rules. Did you or did you not claim obliviation was prudent only _if_ she was unaware of the rules pertaining to Time Travel?"

"You know I did." Saul waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, I find her to be knowledgeable in the area, but I also find her to be a child."

"She's seventeen, a legally recognised adult."

"Barely. She admits, herself, it's mostly due to Time-Turner use and legality does not acquaint responsibility. Would you have called your own son a responsible adult at seventeen?"

"Ha! I'm not sure I'd call him responsible even now, but that is besides the point. This girl was granted a Time-Turner in her third year, a fact that was undoubtedly decided on, in part, by your very division. Would you have made such a decision if you felt the recipient irresponsible?"

"That's just it, we currently allow no such thing," Saul declared. "What could possibly change that would allow a student the use of a potentially dangerous tool? I bet it was Bode's decision he always was an idiot," he mumbled.

"Whoever's decision it was doesn't matter here and now. What does matter is that girl's safety," Charlus declared, pointing at the reclining woman. "I don't feel right Obliviating her. She's aware of the rules; I think it best we present her with the facts. I would be willing to take responsibility for her if need be," he stated.

Saul glanced over to the girl once more and nodded. "So be it."

* * *

Hermione watched as the two men argued mere feet away; clearly they had set some sort of silencing ward around them. She watched the older man gesture about as he spoke. If he was to be trusted, and she found she _did_ trust him, he was most likely Harry's grandfather if not some other close relation. She didn't know much about the Potter family other then Harry was the last of it and, like the rest of the Wizarding World, that You-Know-Who had killed his parents on the thirty-first of October, 1981. _Four years from now_ , she gasped, _they were still alive_. She briefly wondered what they might be doing at that very moment then dismissed the thought. She shouldn't think of those things. Meddling with time might still be a danger, if not to the timeline then to herself. Besides, what would a wizard do if some nutter came 'round proclaiming he and his family would be personally hunted down by the darkest wizard in centuries? No, that wouldn't end well.

The two men approached her once again. The elder man, _Mr. Potter,_ she reminded herself, led the way, a sad sort of smile on his face.

"How are we, little one?" he asked kindly.

"Well enough. I supposed some of the initial shock has worn off. Still, it is extremely disturbing being trapped here in this time."

He nodded in understanding. "Yes, no doubt it is. Saul and I were just discussing your situation and we wanted to stress to you the importance of keeping your true origins secret from those you may come into contact with. We are living in dark times and I can't begin to contemplate what some might be willing to do in order to gain your knowledge of the future."

"I understand, sir."

"Good. Now I must ask, what is your blood status?"

She felt herself bristle at the question. After all she had heard about the Potters, she had assumed they'd be much like the Weasleys and pay little mind to blood status. "What does that matter?" she asked sharply.

"Now, now, don't get yourself worked up," he advised. "While the matter usually holds little importance to me, at this moment it is rather important that we know."

Hermione lifted her chin stubbornly. "Why?"

He chuckled. "You remind me a bit of another young lady I know. She's quite headstrong as well. That's a fine trait, never lose it," he said seriously. "Now, as I said, normally blood status would be of little importance to Saul or myself but in this case, it is. Simply, if you are a pureblood or even a half-blood it would be possible to contact your Wizarding family and, with some explanation, they might be willing to take you on as a cousin or such. You see?" he asked.

She nodded sadly. That _did_ make sense, but it wouldn't help her at all. The Weasleys, though they were just _as good as_ family to her, were simply not. She had no family. No one. She was all alone and she told them so.

"That would make things easier, sir, however, I am a Muggle-born. I have no . . . no place here."

"You are a witch, my dear girl," Charlus spoke softly. "You always have a place here. It would have been easier placing you with family but, rest assured, we will find you a safe place."

"We don't have much time left here, Charlus. It's almost dawn and the other Unspeakables will be arriving soon for work," Saul informed him.

"Yes, very well. As our time here is short, little one, might I make a suggestion?" he asked.

"I'm certainly in no position to stop you."

"Well then, I propose till some more permanent arrangement can be found, you might come to stay in my residence? I have a spare room or two and would welcome the company. How does this sound?" Charlus asked kindly.

"I appreciate the offer," she said, _and as it seems I have no choice in the matter_ , "I accept."

"Well, now that all of that business is settled, how do you proposed we move the girl without her being seen? Surely the night watch checked you in Charlus, but how would you explain your companion when exiting?"

"Not to worry, not to worry," Charlus declared with a twinkle in his eye. "I have just the thing. I know your Floo's are not set for travel, but might I make a call?"

* * *

Charlus reentered the room a short time later after making use of the departments main Floo, his face flushed with colour.

"Well?" Saul asked impatiently. "Is this friend of yours coming?"

"Yes, momentarily. He was . . . otherwise occupied, but he assured me he would be coming shortly," he told him before turning to regard Hermione. "Would you allow me to transfigure your clothing before he arrives dear? I'm afraid that your uniform and current disarray might pique his curiosities a bit _too_ strongly and, trust me, we will all be better off if we can avoid that."

Hermione looked down at herself where she sat perched on the edge of the settee. She was certainly a mess with her singed jumper and her stockings torn and caked with dried blood as they were. Lacking a mirror, she could only guess how badly the rest of her had fared. She nodded her consent and felt the tingle of magic brush softly against her skin as her uniform lengthened and altered its shape, leaving her in soft unremarkable charcoal robes not much different to those she had seen young witches wearing from time to time in Diagon Alley.

She lifted her gaze to thank Mr. Potter, and watched as he made a small movement with his wand, a length of green ribbon appearing in the hand he held before him. Hermione nodded her thanks as he handed it to her before carefully using it to pull back the wild tangle of curls which her hair had become. Just as she'd finished, a hurried movement at the entrance drew the attention of the rooms occupants.

A young man stood frozen at the door a jumble of parchments and quills balancing precariously in his arms. A mass of soft golden curls hung over his eyes and he hastily huffed a breath of air trying to clear them from his vision as he quickly took in the three people standing before him.

"Excuse me Mr. Croaker, umm Mr. Potter, sir," he hastily spoke as he dropped his quills and parchment on the nearest workstation before drawing ink-stained fingers through his hair pushing it firmly from his vision. "I wasn't aware anyone was here . . . I, umm . . ." he spoke quickly, differing to Mr. Potter, yet his eyes kept wandering toward Hermione. "I saw no Aurors posted, sir, has something gone wrong?"

Charlus let out a forced huff of laughter before walking forward and placing a friendly hand on the young man's shoulder. "Wrong? Of course not, my boy. Is my presence going to be akin to a Grimm sighting from now on?" He laughed heartily. "I am retired now. I no longer have a hoard of Aurors at my beck and call."

"Oh, of course, sir. Sorry, sir." The young man turned to regather his supplies before addressing Saul, "I'll just set up in the department lounge, shall I, Mr. Croaker? Until your . . . business is taken care of?"

The two elder gentlemen shared a drawn out look between them before Charlus nodded firmly, the two having come to some sort of silent agreement.

Saul raised a hand to halt his movements. "Actually, son. Why don't you and I step into my private office for a moment before you go? I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

"Oh." The young man glanced once more at Hermione. "Yes. I understand, sir, protocol." He clutched his supplies tightly to his chest and drew his shoulders back paying no mind to the upturned bottle of ink currently staining his robes. With a nod to Mr. Potter, he turned and left the room followed closely by Saul.

"He is going to be alright, isn't he?" Hermione asked once the two men had disappeared from sight through the open doorway.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, nothing to worry yourself over," Charlus assured her before conjuring up a moist flannel and a small mirror. "Take this dear, you might like to freshen up a bit before my acquaintance arrives."

She recognised the change of topic for what it was and took the small flannel and mirror from him with a gracious smile before setting about cleaning herself up. The sight in the mirror was thankfully no worse than she expected. Smoke residue and small flecks of dried blood marred her pale and lightly freckled cheeks; she wiped them away with wide swipes of the flannel before addressing her tender split lip with more care.

Her mind wandered a bit while she gently wiped at the dried blood caught in the delicate creases of her lip. Was it really only hours ago she and her friends had set out on their ill-fated rescue mission? When she had woken up that morning, her biggest worry had been O.W.L.s and now, somehow, she was facing a life displaced in time far from all she knew.

Her attention was drawn once again to the room's entrance by a flurry of movement, only this time, instead of a fumbling clerk, she was greeted by the sight of a tall young man sauntering confidently into the room. He couldn't have been much older than she herself, yet he carried himself with a graceful ease that seemed to challenge anyone who might doubt his importance. He wore the light blue robes of an Auror trainee, open and freely flowing over black muggle clothing so tight it could have been painted onto his slim frame. The black dragon hide boots he wore reminded her of Muggle motorcycle boots, and his metal studded belt slung low across his hips spoke of the punk movement she had once heard of from her parents.

A bark of laughter broke her from her thoughts and she glanced up quickly, a deep blush flushing her cheeks as she realised she had been caught in her perusal. The young man's clear grey eyes sparkled with mirth as he caught hers momentarily before turning to Mr. Potter. She tilted her head to the side as she watched him address Charlus. _There's something familiar about him_.

"So, this is the DoM, huh?" he asked as he walked further into the room, his long fingers reaching out to touch small objects within his reach.

Charlus swiftly moved a partially constructed Turner from the path of his questing fingers. " _Yes,_ it is and you would do well to remember it, and _do not touch_ everything," he said moving to block the younger man from grasping an antique looking coo-coo clock. "This is not the sort of place you want to have an accident," he warned with a discreet glance towards Hermione.

He nodded solemnly at Charlus before sending a wink at Hermione. "Of course."

 _There it is again, an inkling. What was that?_

Charlus, seemingly satisfied that the young man wouldn't unwittingly bring the department down around their ears, smiled broadly at him. "Its good to see you, son. The Auror Blues suit you fine."

The younger man beamed brightly at his words before leaning his hips against a workstation and letting his gaze pass over the room — and Hermione — once more. "So, the DoM before the sun has even risen. Going to fill me in?" he asked.

"Not much to do with the Department of Mysteries really. However, if you must know, this lovely young lady here had the misfortune of coming across some rather opinionated friends of ours this evening and has been displaced due to that meeting. She requires a safe haven and I have invited her to stay at my residence till the dust settles . . ."

Hermione listened as the words flowed effortlessly from his lips, there was nothing but truth in them yet he twisted the tale in such a way that Time Travel never played a part. He wove his story smoothly, not even a flicker in his gaze to suggest he was being anything less than completely honest.

She was pulled from her musings by something the young man was now saying.

". . . Cloak in case you're being watched?"

"Indeed, I think it best. The guard wasn't on duty when she came in and we don't need anyone asking questions when we leave," Charlus responded. "Now, we should get to it as the department will be opening for the day shortly."

The young man straightened up and snapped a salute. "Right, straight to business then." He turned on his heel and regarded Hermione with a smile and a cocked brow. "However, pleasantries must be observed." He took her hand swiftly and raised it to his lips as he bowed dramatically to place a kiss at her knuckles, a smile playing at his mouth while his eyes were strong and intense. "My lady, it is my pleasure to serve you. You have nothing to fear . . . "

His words were lost in the chaos that flooded her mind as she was struck by the deadly calm of his eyes. _And suddenly she knew_. She _knew_ before the words even left his lips, as surely that she was Hermione Granger she knew she was gazing into the grey eyes of none other than Sirius Black.

She watched as the dark calmness left his eyes and the laughter returned breaking her from her thoughts. He still held her hand in his yet now his mouth lifted into a smirk as he addressed her.

"Lost you there for a minute." He laughed. "See something you like?"

She was caught off guard and froze momentarily before squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. "Actually, you have a bit of lipstick, just there," she said indicating his left jaw. " I don't think that shade of pink is really your colour."

He stared at her a moment before letting loose a loud barking laugh and turning towards the smiling form of Mr. Potter. "Oh, keep her 'round till Jamie gets back." He laughed. "Lils will love her."

Charlus laughed lightly "I'll keep that in mind. Now the Cloak, Sirius. We really have got to hurry now before the Ministry begins its business hours."

"Right. Cloak, on it." Sirius reached into an inner pocket of his long outer robe and pulled out a long silvery grey Cloak. The fluid way it flowed from the inner pocket and the glimmer of the fabric left no questions as to what he had just revealed. The Invisibility Cloak. The very Cloak that had played such an important role when she, Harry, and Ron snuck about and solved mysteries and avoided getting into trouble. Here it was in 1978, ready to help whisk her away to a safe place again, only this time with no friends to go along with her. It was bitter sweet.

"It's time, little Hummingbird," Charlus spoke softly as he stood before her, the Cloak open and waiting. "Are you ready?"

She glanced once more around the room before drawing a deep breath, turned into the cool fabric of the Cloak, and released it in a long slow exhale. "Ready."

* * *

 **A/N 2.0**

So what did you think? Leave a review and let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

. . . but a girl can dream . . .

 **BETA:** Many, many thanks to **ShayaLonnie** for taking on the task of Beta, you're amazing!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

The journey back through the Ministry was, thankfully, an uneventful one. Hermione shuffled along quietly, tucked closely behind Mr. Potter and Sirius as they casually walked past the nightly guard and the Ministry's early arrivals. When it came time to use the Floo, Mr. Potter took her elbow lightly and, after the green light had faded from Sirius' departure, he pulled her along into the hearth with an utterance of, "Potter Home, The Hollow."

Hermione had the briefest moment to ponder the name of their destination before she was exiting the Floo on the other side in a most graceless manner. She found herself grasping the shoulders of the young Sirius, grimacing as his hands caught her around the waist.

His grip sent shock waves of pain throughout her body as his hands met with the broken rib and other injuries she suffered in the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Mr. Potter swiftly stepped forward and helped her carefully from Sirius' arms, leading her to a nearby armchair.

Sirius watched anxiously as Mr. Potter gently helped her settle into the chair, before returning to his side. "Shite, is she alright?"

"She'll be just fine, nothing to worry over. Though I think a visit from the Healer wouldn't be amiss," Charlus told him softly as they watched the girl stare into the flames of the fireplace. "Will you two be alright for a moment while I send an owl?"

"Course. I'll keep her entertained for you," Sirius said as he started for the girl by the fire, only to be stopped by Charlus' hand on his shoulder.

"I mean it, Sirius. While you've been a great help, don't rile her up. She has had a very difficult night and it will likely take her some time to come to grips with the depth of what's happened." He looked sadly at the young woman sitting by the fire, her eyes staring blankly into the flames. "Mind her for a bit while I send the owl, and for goodness sake Sirius _don't_ pry."

Sirius nodded solemnly.

Charlus watched him as he went to the young woman by the fire, the flames flickering off both their faces before turning to gaze at the picture sitting on the mantle. _I think I may have found my purpose, love,_ he smiled fondly at the picture and the dark haired woman in its frame, soundlessly twirling in a lightly falling snow for a moment longer before going to fetch his owl and parchment.

* * *

Hermione gazed sadly into the gracefully leaping fire. She felt like she was partaking in some strange play. Nothing felt real anymore. Was it really only hours ago she and Harry were leading that insufferable Umbridge woman into the Forbidden Forest? Then the terrifying flight into London on an _invisible_ creature on some half-cocked rescue mission, only to be thrown back in time and met with a fidgety Unspeakable, a very much alive Charlus Potter, and the younger version of the exact man they had set out to save! This was crazier than anything she could ever imagine, even for the Wizarding World.

"Long night?" Sirius' voice pulled her attention from the hypnotic flames and her wandering thoughts.

"Longest," she replied sadly.

"I won't ask."

She turned to fully look at him. He had laid his Auror robes over the back of his own chair and was sitting with elbows braced on his knees as he looked into the flames.

"Won't you?" she asked.

"Well, not now. In time . . . most likely."

She chuckled for a brief moment before the pain in her side got the best of her. "Well, I suppose honesty does count for something."

He turned to regard her, a small smile lifting his mouth. "There's hope for you yet."

"You think?"

"I _know_. You're a fighter."

"You don't even know me," she said sadly as she turned to the flames, thinking to herself, _not yet._

"No, but I know that you are. You went through Merlin knows what tonight, yet you're sitting here, talking to me and even managed a laugh just now."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Barely."

"True," he agreed. "It was a sad excuse for a laugh. I am an _extremely_ funny bloke. I'm a bit disappointed in you actually."

Hermione couldn't help the small smile that spread across her face now and tried to turn away and hide it;if he noticed, he didn't say so.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they continued to watch the flames dancing in the hearth and let the calmness of the moment overtake them.

* * *

When Mr. Potter returned a short time later, followed closely by an elderly house elf, he found the two sleeping soundly in the matching armchairs by the fire.

He shook the young man's arm gently. "Sirius. Sirius, wake up son."

"Mmmph . . . hmm? Jamie . . ." Sirius slowly opened his eyes taking a moment to remember where he was. "Oh, Da . . . Mr. P, sorry I didn't mean to doze off. Everything okay?"

"Everything's just fine. The Healer will be here shortly. Would you like to stay in your room here and sleep for a bit?"

Sirius took a moment to stretch his lengthy frame before rising. "Thanks, but I should get going. Need a shower and change before meeting up with the guys later." He watched the young woman in the chair opposite him for a moment before turning back to Charlus. "Unless _you_ need me?"

"No, no, you go along and tell the boys I said hello. I'll be just fine with all this," Charlus assured him while gesturing at the sleeping girl.

Sirius ran a hand through his tousled hair before taking a handful of Floo powder. "Right then, if you need me, I'm an owl away." And with a roar of green flames he was gone.

Charlus watched as the green light disappeared and the golden glow of the fire washed over the room once again, before taking the recently departed chair and speaking softly to the sleeping girl. "Dear . . . Miss? It's time to wake now, Hummingbird," he cooed.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. The lingering remnants of a sleep induced haze passing the moment her eyes focused on the strange room and small figure poking its large bulbous eyes around the chair opposite hers. She sat up with a squeak, regretting it immediately when a sharp jolt of pain shot through her side once again.

The small house elf hurried around the chair at the sound of her pain, worrying a small handkerchief in its tiny hands. "Maisy is terrible sorry Miss. Maisy is just wanting to see Young Miss is well."

"M-Maisy it's . . . I-I'm sorry, Maisy, I'm just . . . I was startled. You did nothing wrong," Hermione told the little elf.

Charlus reached a hand out to calm the creature. "Maisy, the Young Miss is a Muggle-born, dear. She may not be familiar with house-elves."

"Oh, I'm quite familiar, _sir_ , with the Wizarding World's _enslavement_ of house-elves. I am surprised a man such as yourself would subjugate this creature to a life of servitude for your family," Hermione said indignantly.

"Master does _not_ enslave Maisy!" the little elf huffed. "Master Potter Sir is a good master, he is giving Maisy clean pillow cases and laces to be wearing. I is a happy house-elf. I works hard and makes Master happy too."

"You do make me very happy indeed Maisy. Would you be so kind as to fetch tea for the Young Miss and myself?" Charlus smiled kindly as the elf gave a small curtsy before popping out of the room.

Hermione stared at the spot where the elf had been standing a moment before her mouth working to form words her brain hadn't quite settled on yet. She never knew elves could be so . . . so forward. "That . . . I-I'm sorry for that, sir. You have been very kind to take me into your home. It was rude of me to —"

"To speak your mind? Think nothing of it, dear," he dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "I'm a bit surprised though, have you met many house-elves? You seem to have a strong opinion on their work."

"Well, no. Just two really. The elves at Hogwarts are very secretive in their movement." She blushed faintly at her confession, images of poorly knitted hats and socks stuffed under common room sofa cushions running through her mind. "Still, I don't see how it can be called work when they receive no pay."

"Well, no, no pay, though it is against their very nature to take money for their services." He pursed his lips as he took in her squared shoulders and tightened jaw. "I feel this subject could take up a great amount of our time. Why don't we agree to disagree at this moment and I shall see if Maisy would be up to answering a few of your questions at a later time. How does that sound?"

"Certainly, sir. That sounds like a fine idea," she agreed just as the tiny elf popped back into the room with a tea tray magically balanced at her side.

Charlus gave the elf a warm smile as she handed him a cup of tea. "Ah, wonderful. Thank you, Maisy. Tea, dear?" he asked Hermione and carefully hid a smirk behind his cup when the small elf refused to give up the other cup till she had filled it for the young witch before popping out along with the tea service.

"Good. Now I do have a rather important question that seems to have slipped my mind till right this very moment," he said after taking a sip of the warm liquid.

"And what might that be, sir?"

"Well, I hope you can forgive my rudeness in not asking earlier, but do you have a name dear?" Charlus asked with a wide grin.

She smiled as she shook her head lightly. "I suppose it has been a very . . . full night. And after demanding your name I never even gave my own. I apologise, it's Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger."

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Hermione Granger," he told her just as the hearth fire roared high and green. When it settled there was Sirius Black's head floating in the flames, his right arm extended out with wand in hand.

"Oh. . . you're awake . . . good. Don't let me interrupt your tea, just came back to fetch my Auror robes," he told them before summoning the garments, which flew across the room to him. "Lost these twice already. I can always replace them myself, but they have a poll going at the office and I'm down twenty Galleons if I lose them once more." He pulled his outstretched arm back through the flames and started to turn away before he apparently changed his mind and turned back towards Hermione. "What's your name, love?"

She sat there for a moment watching his head floating in the flames. It was tilted at just such an angle that, paired with the look in his eyes, she couldn't help but mentally compare him to a curious puppy. "Oh . . . it's Hermione."

He cocked a brow at her and pursed his lips. "No . . . no, that won't work. See you soon, Kitten," he told her pulling his head back through the flames.

Before the flame had even lost its green glow, it soared high once more and a tall woman stepped out of the hearth. She carried a small black box Hermione vaguely recognised as a traveling potions kit, and greeted them both with a warm smile.

"Hello, Charlus. How have you been? Michael and I haven't seen you in some time."

Charlus rose from his place beside Hermione and moved swiftly to greet the woman with a courtly bow and a kiss to her outstretched hand. "Mrs. McKinnon, it has been too long."

"Not long enough that you can't use my given name. Mrs. McKinnon is my mother-in-law and I won't have you compare me to that banshee," she said with a light laugh.

"I'll not make the mistake again, Marlene. I assure you." He chuckled deeply before gesturing towards the silent Hermione. "This is Hermione Granger, the young lady I wrote you about. Hermione, this is Healer McKinnon."

"Pleasure to meet you, Healer McKinnon, ma'am."

"Marlene is fine, dear. There is no need for such formalities amongst friends, and any friend of the Potters is a friend of mine." She gave Hermione a soft smile before turning to Charlus once more. "Is there somewhere Ms. Granger and I might speak privately? I'll need to ask her a few questions and run some tests."

"Yes, of course. Maisy," he called out to the elf, who appeared with the smallest of pops by his side. "Are the rooms ready for Ms. Granger?"

"Yes, Master Potter sir. I is just finished cleaning the rooms you be asking to ready for the Young Miss."

"Wonderful, would you be so kind as to show Healer McKinnon and Ms. Granger the way?"

The elf smiled brightly, reached for each woman's hand and, before Hermione could utter any sort of protest, they Disapparated and reappeared in a brightly lit bedroom.

Hermione swayed lightly on her feet at the sensation of vertigo that passed over her with the sudden change from sitting to standing. The Healer led her gently towards a large four poster bed that sat across from a wall with two floor to ceiling windows overlooking a sloping emerald green lawn and a small town in the distance glowing in the early morning light.

"Let's sit you down right here, dear," she urged Hermione down onto the bed before pulling up a nearby chair for herself. "Now, Charlus didn't go into much detail when he owled me requesting a Healer. Said that he found himself in a position where he had to take immediate custody of a minor whose family had been recently attacked by a group of blood purists."

Hermione stared down at the scuffed toe of her Mary Janes as the Healer spoke. _Attacked by a group of blood purists. Blood purists . . . pure-bloods._ She glanced down at a smear of blood on her right knuckle; it was dried and brown. _Mudblood,_ she thought. A _Mudblood_ trapped in 1978 where the British Wizarding World had been at war with Voldemort for seven years and, if the history books were correct, the next four years would prove to be the darkest of his first rise. The killings would escalate — no longer just Muggles and _Mudbloods_ — soon half-bloods and even the _purest_ of families would join the growing number of casualties . . . all because some "purist" thought _her kind_ was worthless; because some Death Eaters considered themselves superior. Were they even Death Eaters yet? Or were they still calling themselves Knights of Walpurgis and trying to pass off their foul ideas as " _Insuring true Magicals their rightful place in the world"_ during the day while torturing and killing in the night?

". . . I do have experience treating the victims of crimes like this. I regretfully have to say you're not the first I've seen in need of healing and a safe place to stay. You're lucky to have found Charlus. The Potters are a fine family and he is sure to keep you safe until we can locate your family. Now there are some standard ques —"

"He won't," Hermione whispered.

"What was that dear?"

"I-I said he won't." Hermione averted her eyes sadly. "He won't find my family. There isn't any he . . . any left. It's just me."

Healer McKinnon raised her hands to her chest and sank back into her chair. "Oh, you poor dear. I'm so sorry, I . . . Charlus didn't say." Silence enveloped the room for a time till the Healer sat forward and placed a light hand over Hermione's knee. "Now you listen to me. Charlus Potter is a good man and if he has welcomed you into his home, you should rightly consider him your family now. I can't say I've seen a family that had more love to give than the Potters. You'll be safe here," she told her with a firm nod that would allow no argument.

"Now, I have a few questions I must ask about the nature of your attack. They are of a personal nature, but rest assured anything you say in this room is between you and I, not even Charlus will be privy to it unless you give permission."

At Hermione's hesitant nod, Healer McKinnon began. "Do you have need of an Emergency Contraceptive Potion?"

Hermione could feel her cheeks starting to flush in embarrassment. "Oh . . . I . . . umm, no. No, ma'am."

Healer McKinnon laid a hand gently over hers. "Now, this is nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed over, alright? Just try to answer my questions as best you can. If you feel too uncomfortable answering aloud, I can owl a colleague of mine that works with Legilimency, okay?" She waited for Hermione to nod in confirmation before moving on. "During the events of this evening, did any of your attackers use any spell or curse on you that caused you to act against your will?

"No."

"Good. Have you experienced any loss of memory or spaces of time?"

"No, I haven't."

"You've done very well dear. Now all I need to do is run some scans," she said as she stood and began running a series of Sanitising Charms over a small table by the bed. "I'm going to have to remove your robes. Do you have undergarments on or would you like me to transfigure some?" she asked as she set her potions kit on a small table and began to resize its contents.

"Oh, well I'm wearing Muggle underthings, uh . . . knickers and a brassiere, are those alright?" Hermione asked as she felt her cheeks grow warm. She knew from girls in her dorm that, while most wore Muggle undergarments, some of the girls from the older pureblood families still wore combination one pieces under their robes.

"That's just fine, dear. I treat Muggle-borns as well. I've seen it all. Even heard some of them had set to burning their brassieres not so long ago. That sounds foolish to me, but there you go. Now, lie back for me and I'll remove the robes and run a few Diagnostic Spells."

Hermione pulled her legs up and slowly turned to avoid jarring her injured ribs as she lay back gently. She felt the cool air of the room wash over her skin as her robes were magicked away and watched as the Healer ran her wand over her from head to toe in a series of complex movements before she sat back down at her side.

"You have a broken rib and several others are bruised. I have a potion that will mend the rib and heal the internal bruising. As for the external injuries, you have many cuts and abrasions, the deepest of which may require a drop or two of Dittany, and many others that will be easy enough to heal with a few spells."

Healer McKinnon filled a glass with water from her wand before pouring a small amount of Skele-Gro into a dosing cup and handing both to her patient. "Here you are, dear. It won't take much of this to mend you, but it is rather nasty so I'd advise taking it all in one go."

Hermione tossed the potion back swiftly and grimaced as it burned its way down her throat before taking a long drink from the provided water. She settled back into the pillows of the bed as the Healer cleansed the glass and dosing cup with her wand, shrinking the glass to return to her potions kit where she removed a tiny brown vial and a large clear bottle filled with an iridescent purple liquid Hermione recognized to be _Dreamless Sleep_.

"The Skele-Gro and Dittany are unpleasant in their own right," Healer McKinnon told her as she filled a goblet with Dreamless Sleep. "Pairing those up with your recent trauma is asking quite a lot of you for one day. I'd like you to take this sleeping potion for me. You'll sleep through your healing so you won't feel a thing. You'll also get some much-needed rest."

Hermione nodded eagerly drank from the offered goblet. She immediately felt herself sinking into the bed beneath her as the surrounding room grew hazy and sounds became muffled.

 _Maybe,_ she thought as she verged on the edge of consciousness, _maybe when I wake this will all have been a dream._

* * *

 **A/N:** And that Chapter 4. Things will get moving from here on out. I'm visiting family so I don't know how much time I can fit in for writing, but I'll do what I can. Let me know what you guys think! I love getting feedback .


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

. . . but a girl can dream . . .

 **BETA:** Many, many thanks to **ShayaLonnie** for taking on the task of Beta, you're amazing!

 **A/N:** I was thrilled with all the reviews for the last chapter. It's so amazing to get feedback for something I've written, especially because this is my first time putting anything out there for others to share in. I've been away and actually will be for two more weeks so writing time has been sporadic. I hope you all enjoy this.

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Chapter 5

* * *

June 23, 1978

Smoke billowed into the hazy pub from a Floo that had not been properly cleaned in centuries. A low strum of hushed conversations created a soft murmur broken only by a loud guffaw of laughter from a table tucked into a far corner.

A tall, young wizard moved gracefully through the cluttered maze of tables and chairs. He cleaned spills with a worn and dirty rag, controlled with a lazy flick of his wrist, while using his other hand to direct drinks to this table and that. A broom following in his wake.

"— odd one there —" a voice muttered as he passed.

Hearing the words, he felt colour rise in his cheeks, suspecting that the whispers were about him; they usually were. The young wizard tucked his chin, letting his sandy locks fall forward to hide his face as continued on his way past the muttered voices, still catching bits of conversation.

" — see the eyes? —"

" — it's the nose, something about it —"

He felt his spine stiffen. _This was too much_ , he thought as he felt his lip curl in a silent growl. Talk on the streets he could handle, outright jabs he'd brush off, but this was his place of work. This was too much . . . how was he supposed to just ignore it . . . ?

" . . . I tell you it's the teeth, all the bet—"

With lightening speed, the young wizard spun around and slammed his palms down on the offenders secluded table, broom clattering to the floor behind him. "All the better rip you to shreds with, you utter prats," he snarled and the two young wizards at the table began to laugh loudly.

Peter held his side as he laughed deeply. "You . . . oh, mate, your face right now!"

"Going to take a bite out of us, Moon?" Sirius grinned broadly at his friend before sending him a wink. " A little kinky, don't you think?" he asked, igniting the laughter his pudgy friend had just managed to control.

Remus tossed his rag to an empty table and sat down at the edge of their booth. "Budge up, Pete. You are both arseholes, you know that right? If someone hears you, I'll lose this job."

"Oh, don't be such a buzz kill, Moony," Sirius moaned. "It was _wolf_ decibels, no one would pick up on that but you."

The young werewolf rolled his eyes. "Really, well then, my thanks to you, O Subtle One. The _Big Bad Wolf?_ I thought you were smart, Sirius. Isn't that one is getting old?"

Sirius spread his arms out over the back of the booth smiling broadly. "Remind me to thank Lils for that one, by the way. It's a gem."

Remus snorted indignantly at his raven haired friend. "Right. You think a story where a wolf _eats_ _grandma_ and gets killed by a huntsman is a gem. You're an idiot. You know she only told James that story so he would stop calling her 'Little Red' back in sixth year. She didn't even know about . . . _me_ yet."

Peter scoffed before patting his friend on the shoulder, a smirking tilt to his lips. "Who are you kidding Remus? Lily is, and always has been, a swot. She probably knew about your furry little problem back in first year; probably thought you were some poor lost soul . . ."

"Yeah," Sirius chimed in eagerly. "Dreamed about kissing the wolf to turn him into a prince or one of those things Muggles tell their kids about."

"Frogs." Remus sighed at Sirius' lost expression. "Honestly, how did you pass Muggle Studies? It's a frog. In a _children's story,_ the princess kisses a _frog_ and turns him into a prince and they live happily ever . . . " he trailed off at the sight of his friend's bemused grin. "Oh, shove off."

"No, no, do go on, Moony. Tell me about the princesses and frogs." Sirius smirked, resting his chin in his palm, batting his long lashes up at his moody werewolf friend.

"The _point_ ," Remus said firmly, " is it was a Muggle children's story and Lily had no idea about the _wolf_ back then."

"I don't know, she could have. But you're right, she likes to share her knowledge. I don't think she could have kept it to herself if she wanted too," Peter said with a nod. "She's probably teaching Prongs all about huffing and puffing and blow—"

"Oi! Enough with the wolf tales already. I get it, Muggles have wolf stories. Ha, ha," Remus almost growled.

"Who's talking about wolves? I'm just hopeful my dear friend is having an enjoyable honeymoon," Peter said with a devious smirk.

Remus snorted loudly shaking his head to rid himself of _that_ visual before turning to his friend across the table, only to see him laying sideways in the booth clasping his stomach and shaking lightly. " Are you all right?" he demanded before he noticed Sirius' quiet laughter.

"Wolf tales!" Sirius sputtered out on a laugh, pushing himself to sit once more. "You sa-you said wolf _tales_. _Wolf tails_ . . . and . . . and you were so-so _grrr . . ."_ He held his hands up in what Remus assumed were claws and fell back to his side continuing to laugh heartily.

The werewolf laughed. "Have a busy night, Pads? I think you might be a little sleep deprived. You're a little nutty . . . even for a Black."

"Oh, Moons. What a night, you should have been there. A beautiful woman followed by a beautiful woman. A little young, but this hair that screamed shag me . . . you had to be there, mate."

"No mate, I had to work. You know what that is, right? I hear you do it sometimes." The young werewolf flicked his wand towards his forgotten broom and rag, setting them in motion once more. "Right, then. _I_ have a shift to finish while the two of you continue with whatever it is you're doing," He said as he turned away his broom and the snickering of his two friends following in his wake.

"Oi, send over two more pints, yeah?" he heard Sirius bellow at his back. "And we run the gauntlet tonight, don't forget."

* * *

An hour later found the three young wizards racing broomsticks swiftly through the dark cramped alleyways of Muggle London. Their young bodies laid tightly against the long handles as they each pushed their brooms faster, trying desperately to edge out the others.

Peter pulled into the lead with a loud whoop and a quick pump of his fist, which had him swerving dangerously for a moment before he regained control as he sped towards a tight corner. Behind him, head tilted into the wind as it rushed past, a wide grin spread over Remus' face as he started to inch closer, ready to surpass him at the approaching corner. Peter hesitated just before the sharp bend in the alleyway, nervously jerking up on his broom. Seeing his friend falter, Remus leaned into his broom, not even pausing to throw out a jeering taunt as he took over the lead with casual ease. His long lean body held in a smooth line as the muddled grey alleyways passed him in an unfocused blur.

Ahead of them lay a wall of painted graffiti, the Muggle art a landmark in their course. As the two young wizards sped towards the wall, they heard a low screeching sound coming from behind them, rapidly growing in volume as something in the distance grew ever closer.

Just as they were about to reach the wall, Sirius came peeling past them with the speed of a devil, screeching and howling in pleasure as he pulled up on his broom just before a seemingly inevitable collision with the bricks. He flew straight up the graffitied wall in a tightly spiraling corkscrew; a whirlwind of broom, wizard, and noise.

Remus and Peter fought to close the gap their over zealous friend left behind after his rapid ascent, but were no match for the laughing wizards vertical speed. They could only watch in mild irritation as Sirius leveled his broom and flew out of sight over top of the building.

Remus was next to crest over the side of the building only to find his dark haired friend reclining casually against the gabled roof. A smile of satisfaction pulling at the corners of Sirius' mouth, his broom lying haphazardly at his side still vibrating with the strength of its owner's magic.

"Nice of you to join me, mate." Sirius grinned cheekily.

Remus set his broom down at his side laying back on the inclined roof, chest heaving. "N-not sure how you managed that, swore we left you back at Grimmauld Park."

"What? Did you think I'd stopped in to chat with mother dearest? That's a laugh," Sirius said without a hint of laughter before giving his friend a sly smile. "Might have stopped to piss on her favorite Flutterby bushes."

Remus studied his friend for a moment. He sat stiffly, shoulders held in a hard line like he was just waiting for some sort of reprimand for his behaviour. _Give him a taste of what he needs,_ Remus thought. "You know, numerous studies have shown that an insecure attachment of boys and their mothers can be linked to externalising behaviour; aggression, hostility, acting out in social settings . . ." He watched Sirius' shoulders sag, as he let out a deep breath Remus doubted he knew he'd been holding in the first place.

"We're not comparing the hate-breathing, acid-spitting, dragon-headed monster of Grimmauld Place to a _mother,_ now are we?" Sirius laughed at the thought. "I know you could probably teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Moony, but I'm fairly certain you just insulted dark creatures everywhere." He reclined back into the roof once more his posture returning to its normal devil may care slump.

"I'm just shocked your mum's favourite plant is a _Flutterby_. Pictured her more of a Devil's Snare fan, myself," Peter stated as he dropped down at their side, joining in when his friends chuckled at his wit.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "She keeps _that_ in the guestroom. Can't risk any _unsavoury_ guests making it through the night."

Peter grimaced and reached for the broom he had set down moments earlier. "Meeting tonight?"

"Probably not. No word yet."

Peter nodded as he absentmindedly fidgeted with the handle of his broom . "Right, wish they'd let us know ahead of time. This last minute shite is a pain in the arse."

"You're telling me. I've had to cancel plans with Beck-ah, Kimber-no . . . um, Linda twice already."

Remus rolled his eyes as he watched his small pudgy friend. "It's a safety precaution. Those other two locations were leaked and there is nothing left but piles of ash to mark where they once stood." He really had hoped to spend some time with his friends as a group tonight. It hadn't even been a month since they had left Hogwarts and he was already beginning to feel the loss of his close-knit group of friends. With James now married and away on his honeymoon, he had really found himself depending on these bi-weekly flying drills to reconnect with his mates who were, if he really thought about it, the only family he had left. His own mother had died just months before and his father had become a recluse, searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle rather than seek out the only son he had . . . the son he blamed for the ruin of his family and the early death of his wife.

"Sure, but do they think it's a traitor?" Peter asked, his voice pulling Remus from his thoughts as the short Marauder kicked at a loose slate tile. "Dumbledore performs the vow himself, you'd have to be brilliant to get around them."

"Or just a sneaky little deviant bastard," Sirius sneered as he flicked his wand at his broom, making sparks fly from its tail.

Peter watched as the sparks glowed red hot on the old roof before fading out of existence.

"Heh . . . yeah, I-I guess that's . . .right. Well, I'm off, mates."

"Where are you off to again? Got a secret woman?" Sirius asked. "It's not the Marauder way to be leashed."

"That's rich coming from you, Pads. And look at Prongs, he moved right on to being chained. If you ask me, he's going to need to let her know who is in charge before he's completely whipped." The pudgy Marauder giggled snidely.

"Aww, Prongsie thinks the sun rises and sets around Lily, and it could be worse. Just between us, if I had to be whipped, I wouldn't mind taking a few lashes from such a delicious woman." Sirius smiled salaciously, his hands raised before him mimicking squeezing motions as he spoke.

Remus rolled his eyes at his friends antics. They all knew he would be the one to say that thought straight to the dynamic redhead and sport the resulting hex marks with pride. "Right, thanks for that visual."

"You. Are. Welcome," Sirius said with a salute.

"Where _are_ you running off to Wormy?"

"Oi, forgot you were my keepers," the young man muttered as he picked at a loose splinter of wood on the handle of his aging broom. "Just off to see Mum, she's lonely with Dad gone. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, go knit an afghan." Sirius waved his hand in dismissal. "Better yet, bake me some biscuits . . . but not the shite with the nuts; they get stuck in my teeth. The chocolate ones Moony loves!"

"Double Chocolate Chunk," Remus replied wistfully.

"That's the ticket, doubles, Wormy and don't forget!"

"Bite me, Pads," Peter replied as he flashed his friend a two fingered salute.

"Not my type, love. I like curves, but yours just aren't in the right places. All soft 'round the middle and your arse is down right boney. . . Moony, on the other hand, he's got a nice round bum . . ."

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the heat from rising into his cheeks. "Stop checking out my arse, Pads."

Sirius chuckled at his friends awkward blush. "Just appreciative of the view, Moony, dear."

"Right, and _that's_ my cue." Peter kicked off the roof hovering for a moment longer. "St-stay safe, yeah?"

"Always, Pete. And you remember . . . double chocolate biscuits, and no skimping on the chocolate, Moony will know if you do!" Sirius shouted, the last bit meeting his small friend's retreating back.

"He's scared, you know."

"Aren't we all?"

"Yeah, Just . . . you know he's never been the bravest."

Sirius stared off into the night, his expression hard. "You don't have to be brave to do what's right . . . he's a Marauder."

Remus reclined back onto the cool roof tiles and gazed up at the waning gibbous moon hanging innocently amongst the heavens, feeling the bone-deep ache from days earlier. Sirius talked of being a Marauder like that alone made one worthy; like being one made you invincible. He used to feel that, too. In Hogwarts, prowling the corridors along with his mates, they were a force; they owned the world, could do anything. Now though, sweeping the floors and cleaning grimy glasses while waiting for the next moon to come, he couldn't help but feel foolish for their naivety. Still, they were so much more than his mates.

"Brothers," He declared.

"Brothers," Sirius echoed in the same solemn tone as his brother, Remus.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0**

So what did you think about meeting these Marauders? I'd love to hear your thoughts, are they what you expected? Leave a review and let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

. . . but a girl can dream . . .

 **Beta:** Shaya Lonnie, thank you so much!

 **A/N:** I know it been a while, but sometimes life gets a little hectic. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, it means so much to me.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

 **Potter House, The Hollow**

 **24 June 1978**

Hermione woke surrounded by warm, soft blankets; she didn't want to get up today. Classes could wait for one day couldn't they? Burrowing further into the warm cocoon of blankets, she couldn't help but feel like she was sleeping on a cloud. _A dorm bed shouldn't be this comfortable. If they were, everyone would be late to class_. _Too soft_ , she thought with a heavy sigh as she dug her toes into the mattress. _Too_ warm . . . _too_ soft _. . . too_ warm _. . ._ a dorm bed _wasn't_ this comfortable.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She gazed up at the white duvet, inches from her face, and held her breath as she listened for any sounds to indicate she wasn't alone. She heard nothing but the happy chatter of early morning birds. Slowly lowering the blanket, she peered over the soft and fluffy billows, taking in a dark blue canopy she wasn't familiar with, before turning on her side to see pale blue walls, an intricately carved armoire, and a window overlooking an emerald green lawn.

Potter House.

The events in the Department of Mysteries surged through her consciousness along with her arrival at Charlus Potter's home. She had really hoped it had all been some terrible nightmare. It would seem she wasn't that lucky. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she pulled the blankets from her chin and flopped her arms down over the top, pinning them to her waist in a huff.

This was impossible. Well, no, not impossible, just irritatingly difficult. What she needed was to gather information and form a plan.

Kicking at the ridiculously fluffy blankets—honestly they could smother a person—she rolled to her side to get up from bed only to scream and dive back under the dangerously decadent duvet. Lying under the blanket, pulse beating as though she'd just run a marathon, she waited for her breath to slow before peering cautiously out at the room and the small house-elf that stood at the side of her bed, head propped up on the mattress by two long wrinkled hands with large bulbous eyes looking back at her in concern.

"Is Young Miss feeling well this morning?" the elf asked in a small squeaking voice.

"Uh . . . Y-yes, umm, thank you. Maisy, right?"

The elf smiled at the use of her name. "Oh yes, Miss. Would Young Miss like Maisy to be bringing her breakfast or would you be liking to eat with Master and Missus Healer?"

"Healer McKinnon is still here? How long did I sleep?" Hermione asked curiously as she pulled herself up into a sitting position in the overly large bed.

"Oh, Young Miss be sleeping all day and night. Missus Healer just come this morning and be checking up on Young Miss before you wakes. Young Miss be wanting to go to the Breakfast Room?"

"Yes, I think I'd like that, Maisy. And please, call me Hermione." She swung her bare legs over the side of the bed to stand and realised she wore only her bra and knickers. "Maisy, do you know what Healer McKinnon did with my robes yesterday?"

"She be vanishing the ugly robes Miss Herminy. Master Potter be sending Maisy straight out to get Young Miss new robes and Muggle clothes as well. They all be hanging in the armoire, Miss Herminy."

Hermione frowned as she rose to go to the armoire. She wished Charlus hadn't made a fuss, but if she was stuck here in this time, she really couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth seeing as she had no money of her own and, she noted with unease, she wasn't aware of what had happened to her wand.

She gasped upon opening the armoire doors. It was filled from side to side with a variety of clothing, both Muggle and Wizarding just as Maisy had said. There were several drawers filled with undergarments and stockings, and along the bottom laid several pairs of shoes, from boots and trainers to flats and her familiar Mary Janes. "This is all too much. I . . . thank you, Maisy, this is wonderful."

The house-elf beamed up at Hermione happily as she selected a set of light blue robes and some undergarments from the armoire before directing her to an adjoining bath. "Will you be wanting Maisy to bring you to the Breakfast Room when you is done, Miss?"

"Is it difficult to find?" Hermione asked as she tried to pull a brush she'd found on the bathroom's vanity through her hopelessly tangled hair.

"No, Miss. You takes a left at the bottom of the stairs, and it be the last door on the left," Maisy told her with an anxious glance at the brush that now looked thoroughly stuck in the young witch's hair. "Would you be allowing Maisy to assist you, Miss?"

Hermione let her arms drop heavily to her sides. "It's not this bad if I braid it at night," she said with a huff before nodding reluctantly at the elf who seemed eager to help. After a moment, Hermione felt a slight tingle caressing her scalp and watched in the mirror as her hair gently unwound from its tangled mess. Before she knew it, she stood in front of the mirror with a mane of knot-free—though still highly frizzy—hair. She gave the small elf a grateful smile. "Elf Magic is remarkable, but nothing can fully tame the beast."

* * *

Once Hermione had showered and dressed, she ventured through the Potter's home in search of the Breakfast Room and Mr. Potter himself.

The halls of the home were wide and lined with an enchanted landscape mural; beautiful sweeping fields with grasses gently swaying in a non-existent breeze. She swore she could hear the streams babbling over rocks as the water flowed past a wandering pegasus and flocks of hippogriffs grazing in the shade of a great oak. It gave the feeling of walking through a magical countryside rather than an old manor. As she breathed deeply, she could almost smell the wildflowers; it was wonderfully soothing.

Descending a grand staircase, Hermione found herself in a much more formal living space with dark panelled walls and large framed portraits of what, she assumed, were Potter ancestors. The portraits were unsurprisingly enchanted as well. While many eyed her curiously as she passed, others smiled warmly and wished her a good day.

As she drifted down the hall, she heard low voices coming from what she was told would be the Breakfast Room. She slowed as she neared an open door at the end of the long hall, catching bits of conversation coming from within.

". . . Michael and Ben have spent the last few days increasing our wards. I can _feel_ it, Charlus, things are getting worse. What _The Prophet_ is reporting just doesn't match the trauma cases I've been seeing at St. Mungo's. They _are_ hiding things."

"They've never been reliable, Marley, you know that. Still though . . . Albus hasn't said anything?"

Hermione's ears perked at the use of her headmaster's name and she held her breath, silently urging them to continue.

"Just the same old spiel, 'dark times are upon us, it's our duty to stand up for the greater good.' We have guard duties and make reports, but nothing substantial has been done for months. We have a hard enough time finding a place to meet safely."

 _So, the Order is already formed at this point._ Hermione wondered if they'd take issue with her age in this time as well. If she was truly trapped here, perhaps she could be of use.

"Yes, I heard. Fires, they said?" she heard Charlus ask.

" _Fiendfyre_. Everything within a hundred yards burnt clean to the ground and nothing left but ash. It wasn't during a meeting, thank Merlin, but still, to know the locations? I . . . there have been whispers, Charlus. People are starting to talk; they think we might—"

Whatever she had been about to say was lost to Hermione as Maisy popped into the doorway of the room.

"Oh good, Missy Herminy be finding the way fine." The little elf smiled as she opened the door wide to allow Hermione access. "Why is you standing out in the hall, Miss? Maisy makes a lovely breakfast for yous to enjoy."

Hermione felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she entered into the now quiet room, both occupants watching as she made her way to join them at a small round table.

A tiny smirk tilted up the corner of Charlus' wide mouth as he watched the young witch settle into an open chair and reach for a slice of toast. "How are you feeling this morning, Hummingbird?"

Hermione's hand froze, momentarily hovering over the warm toast before lifting a slice from the rack. "I . . . I'm feeling quite well rested, thank you, sir."

"Oh, please call me Charlus," he addressed her warmly as he slid a dish of marmalade closer to her plate. "I hope you found the room to your liking?"

"Oh, yes, thank you. Though, I wish you hadn't asked Maisy to attend to me and you really shouldn't have gone through all the trouble . . . that is to say . . . I-I'm grateful, truly most grateful, as I can't begin to imagine what I would have done if you hadn't taken me in. I suppose I could have tried to go to Hogwarts . . . but I can't Apparate and I haven't got a broom, not that I could fly it even if I did," she muttered as she nervously tore at her toast. "I don't even have a wand," she admitted just as her stomach let out an embarrassing growl. She glanced down at the remains of her toast and saw nothing more than a pile of crumbs. Her rumbling stomach reminding her that it hadn't gotten a proper meal since lunch two days before, or eighteen years into the future, as it now stood.

Charlus smiled in amusement as he helpfully pushed the rack of toast towards her. "Don't worry about your wand, it is in my office safe and sound when you are ready. As for Maisy, she has been very eager to receive you; it has been a long while since we had curious young minds lurking around the place to look after."

Hermione felt her cheeks blossom with colour once more at the not-so-subtle reminder of her earlier snooping. "I'm very sorry for m-my spying, sir. I—"

"Nonsense. I'll hear nothing of it. You certainly aren't the first curious child to roam these halls, and I would hope you aren't the last either. I just have to brush up on my Silencing Spells so as not to tempt you, won't I?"

"I'm not a child," Hermione mumbled, sounding distinctly childish to her own ears.

Marlene smiled softly at her. "No, you aren't, and I think we all recognise that, dear. It just . . . well . . ." She glanced nervously down at the _Daily Prophet_ by her plate for a moment before appearing to shake a thought from her head. "Nevermind. You're quite right aren't you? Now then, I took the liberty of running a few scans while you were sleeping and everything looks just as I had hoped. I wouldn't use any strong spells or strain yourself physically for another day as to give that rib a chance to set up and _no_ Apparating. Other than that, I give you a clean bill of health."

"Well," the Healer stood from her spot at the table with a warm smile, "St. Mungo's awaits. Hermione, I don't have a working Floo but if you have need, I'm just an owl away." She turned from the table pausing to place a hand softly on Charlus' shoulder. "Thank you for the conversation and lovely breakfast. I hope to hear from you soon. No more of this keeping to yourself nonsense," she said with a light squeeze of his shoulder before leaving the room.

* * *

An awkward silence fell over the remaining occupants after the departure of Healer McKinnon, disturbed only by the occasional clinking of china and scrapping of dinnerware. The distant tick of a grandfather clock seemed to resonate within Hermione's head; a steady strum of whispered reminders that this was not her time, this was not where she belonged, and nothing good could come of this.

The scraping of a chair over wood pulled Hermione from her thoughts as Charlus stood, brushing crumbs from his trousers before reaching a hand out toward her.

"Would you care to join me on a morning stroll through the gardens? It is a lovely day and I'm sure you'd like to familiarise yourself with your new home."

She stared at the proffered hand for a moment before placing her palm in his and rising from her seat. "I'm grateful to you Mr. Potter—"

"Charlus," he insisted before placing her hand in the crook of his arm and guiding her out a pair of french doors that lead into a beautifully fragrant rose garden.

She bit her lip awkwardly as she tried to find the right words to voice her gratitude to this man. He hardly knew a thing about Hermione, yet was willing to not only feed and clothe her but was also welcoming her into his home. "I'm grateful to you, _Charlus_ for all the hospitality you've shown me but . . . well, I . . ."

"Go on, darling. I won't bite," Charlus urged her with a warm smile.

"Well, it's just that you don't really know me and with times as they are, are you . . . certain you want me to live with you?"

"Are you a threat?" he asked. "Do you wish to do harm to my family or myself?"

"No!" she all but shouted at him. "No, of course not. I-I'd never even . . . I couldn't— _wouldn't_ —never, sir."

"Well then you are welcome in my home, and if you wish it, I shall take you on as my ward."

Hermione grinned brightly as tears glistened in her eyes, "I-I can't thank you enough, I don't know what . . . if it weren't for all you've done, I don't know where I'd be right now."

Charlus gave the hand that rested on his arm a reassuring squeeze as he lead her on to an intersecting path that brought them into a section of garden surrounded by various flowering arbours.

"Yes, well you're not the first lost soul that my wife and I have taken in. She had quite the fondness for strays." He chortled warmly at the memory.

"Your wife?"

"Hmm . . . Oh, yes, Euphemia," Charlus said wistfully as he led Hermione through a passage of soft pink roses and climbing vines of deep purple clematis into another section of garden.

"She hated that name," he laughed. "Always insisted we call her by her middle name, Dorea."

Charlus wore a sad distant smile as they continued through beautifully sculpted topiaries and across the emerald lawn. They made their way silently to an old gazebo that sat on a rise in the rolling green lawn, watching as the morning sun rose in the distance, its early rays glistening on the thatched and slated roofs of the old village below.

"It's how we came together," Charlus reminisced softly as he gazed off into the distance, "you see, she was a Slytherin and I, a mighty Gryffindor." He puffed up his chest comically for a moment before his ageing shoulders slumped back down upon heavy exhale. "If it hadn't been for our equal dislike in our names . . . well, we might have never found common ground in the first place."

Hermione smiled softly watching his face transform as he spoke of his wife, his tired hazel eyes took on a youthful gleam as he relived cherished memories.

"Goodness, dear, forgive an old man," he said, visually shaking himself from wherever his memories had wandered. "I seem to have a habit of drifting off. It's been a very long time since I told anyone that story." He laughed faintly as he dabbed at the corner of his eye with his shirt sleeve.

Hermione gently squeezed his forearm where her hand still lay. "I'm honoured you'd share it with me. I think it's incredibly sweet."

"Yes, well, youth is sweet, darling Hummingbird; and wasted on the young."

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.

"Well," Charlus began, "most waste away their youth on petty bicker—"

"No, not that. _Hummingbird_. Why do you call me that?"

"Oh, well . . . tell me, what do you know of the Hummingbird?"

Hermione chewed at her bottom lip for a moment as she tried to recall details of the tiny creature, before sighing in exasperation. "Not terribly much I'm afraid. I know they're small, fast, and . . . well, that's all really."

"Ha, don't pout dear girl, I think that's all most could relay of the tiny avian," he reassured her with a pat on the hand as he moved to sit at a nearby bench. "A hummingbird is capable of the most amazing feats. Despite their small size, they can travel great distances or fly backwards. They represent joy, love, and happiness. Hummingbirds teach us to go beyond time and to see that what happened in the past and what may happen in the future is not nearly as important as what is occurring now."

"That's lovely. D-do you . . . think it's true . . . the part about what may happen not being as important as the here and now?"

"The question, dear is, do _you_? I know the events that brought you here to this time must have been very harrowing, but now that you _are_ here, for the foreseeable future, it seems you'll have a lot of decisions to make."

"Decisions?"

"Do you live each moment in a panicked state, waiting for that one slip of the tongue that may never come . . . _or_ do you embrace the knowledge that it has all happened before and allow yourself to live your life here in this time with a clear mind and a heart full of happiness instead of doubt and sorrow?"

Hermione contemplated his words carefully as she leaned against a pillar of the gazebo watching the early morning rays sparkle off the dew covered lawn before taking in a deep breath. "I think I'd like to live with a clear mind, to be . . . to be happy . . . here," she said, determined to be strong as she found her footing in this familiar, yet achingly different, world.

Charlus smiled warmly at her before nodding soundly. "And that, my darling, is why _you_ are a Hummingbird."

* * *

 **A/N 2.0-** I hope you all enjoyed that, don't be afraid to let me know your thoughts!


	7. Not Quite, an AN

So as you can see this is not a new chapter. ** _IT IS COMING!_** Do to recent surgery on my hand I have been having difficulties getting it finished add to that some computer glitches and here we are. The story will be updated shortly, most likely less then a week, till then thought I'd share this letter from my awesome kid who has been watching me lose my cool over this for the last few weeks.

Faith Rated

1234 Polycat Lane

Diagon Alley

020-877-5309

totally_real

December 22, 2015

Mrs. More Remus Please

4321 First Street

Diagon Alley

Dear Mrs. Remus Please,

I am pleased to inform you that I have recently stumbled upon your intriguing chronicle based on the lost journey of a Miss Hermione Granger and of the origins of time turners and I was quite taken with the chronicle. It is with the upmost candor that I praise it, yet it seems as if the text -which is questionably published on a muggle site- contains content dangerous to the secrecy of our world. Though the content will most likely be interpreted as a work of fiction as previous stories with the same subject manner were, the information contained is still best left within the sealed ministry files it was originally contained in.

It is unfortunate, true, but necessary at the same time to request that you abstain form any further delving into the classified matter formally known as the Hummingbird Case in further 'fictional works' intended for muggle viewing, or even -preferably- that of wizard eyes. The information, though available to the public, is highly conducive to certain instances of magical mischief (such as an unfortunate case involving a young lad who heard of the tale and took it as encouragement to set off on his own adventures though the sands of time) that should be avoided at any cost.

Hoping you'll understand extensively why we sent the last writers block jinx,

Miss Faith Rated: head of borderline fiction monitoring of the Ministry of Magic.

P.S. continued failure to comply may or may not result in obliviation (not that you should be concerned I am assured it's perfectly painless by past trial participants).

 **A/N** : Thanks everyone for sticking with this through the slow build. I hope you will continue to enjoy it and leave reviews letting me know! Happy Holidays,

MoreRemusPlease


	8. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of JK Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

* * *

 **Godric's Hollow**

 **24 July 1978**

Charlus appeared on a corner in Godric's Hollow with a small pop. The normally reserved Wizarding town was alive with early morning shoppers moving about open aired stalls selling fresh produce and household goods alongside purveyors of potions ingredients, pre-made remedies, and Wizarding novelties. The shoppers paid him no mind as he wove between vendors, quickly making his way up the lane, his destination clear in mind.

As he turned onto a narrow side street, the object of his query stood just as he remembered it; the last in a line of sturdy homes that spoke of old money and hard times. The garden was overgrown, yet the ornately carved front door stood strong and firm on its hinge, the morning light glinting off shining hardware. Charlus made his way up the dense path, kicking aside flutterby bushes and dirigible plums as he went before reaching out his wand and tapping the large brass knocker. Barely a moment passed before the door was opened wide, and he was met with a familiar set of stern, blue eyes.

"You're looking well. Enjoying your time away from Hogwarts?"

Albus Dumbledore barely restrained his grimace as he took in the sight of the man standing on his doorstep. "What can I do for you today, _Fleamont_?"

"Now, now, Albus," Charlus chided him with a toothy grin. "You know I haven't used that moniker since I left Hogwarts."

"Haven't you? And here I have such fond memories of your mother calling out over the streets for you as a child."

Charlus chuckled humourlessly. "I'm sure. I have many a memory of names your dear mother used to call you and that brother of yours when you were off galavanting with those . . . goats."

Albus narrowed bright blue eyes into cool slits, glaring at the man on the stoop. "What is it you want _Mr. Potter_?"

Charlus watched as two young witches turned onto the lane. "Perhaps we could take this inside, Albus? Wouldn't want to draw the attention of the younger residents; the Great Professor Dumbledore living amongst them. Can't have that, can we?"

"Pleasant as always," Albus drawled as he stepped aside with a wave of his arm. "Do come in."

Dumbledore led Charlus silently into a sparsely furnished receiving room and watched coolly as he made himself comfortable in the room's only chair. "I hear you have found yourself a new ward; suffering an empty nest so soon?"

"Heard, have you now?" Charlus asked as he pointed his wand at the hearth's smouldering fire. "Seems news does travel fast."

As Charlus sent renewing spells into the fire's coal, Dumbledore conjured a large tufted wing chair for himself. "Yes, well I do like to keep abreast of changes that might affect my younger charges."

Charlus visibly stiffened, lowering his wand slowly at the other wizard's words. "If you mean my sons, I assure you, Albus my family is always my first priority."

"Is it? Well, I wouldn't have it any other way," Dumbledore calmly cooed.. "Now, tell me, Charlus, what has brought you here today?"

Settling back into the worn leather armchair, Charlus perused a small candy dish on the nearby table, casually flicking aside the bright yellow sweets. Only after coming across a deep red morsel and popping into his mouth did he meet the other wizard's cool glare with one of his own. "It's come to my knowledge that your . . . fellowship . . . has been having a hard time finding a safe meeting place of late."

Albus stilled, his eyes narrowing. "And how have you come to know this? The workings of the group of which you speak are meant to be secret, _even_ from family."

Charlus thought briefly of his recent conversations with Marlene and shook his head at this wizard's own presumed greatness. If Albus Dumbledore had but one flaw it was certainly his lack of humility; he was willing to bet there were quite a few more. "Don't worry yourself, Albus. James had nothing to do with this. Though, perhaps your association would do with better vows to assure no . . . loose lips."

"Was there a point to all this? I have business to attend to. Is there something specific you wanted?"

"It's not what I _want_ but rather what I _have_ to offer."

The older man's curiosity was evident for a moment before his perfected mask of wisened headmaster slipped into place. "Go on."

"The Potter Grange has lain empty for some years now, and I thought to offer its use as a safe house for _The Greater Good,_ " Charlus said the last words scathingly.

"I didn't choose the appellation," Dumbledore replied in a tone that one might mistake for regret, had they not known him; Charlus, however, knew him far too well.

"No, I suppose that was more his job, was it?" Charlus coldly asked, his gaze pausing briefly on the mantlepiece and a smiling photo of two young wizards, one ginger the other blond. "You have a lot of good men and women invested in the cause this time; the only family I have left." He growled angrily. "You remember what it's like to lose family, don't you, Albus?"

Dumbledore followed the gaze of his unwanted visitor before turning on the man, his fair blue eyes cold and deadly. "DO _NOT_ TALK TO _ME_ ABOUT LOSS!"

"AND WHY NOT!?" Charlus challenged. "You are not the only one that has ever lost someone, Albus." His voice unwillingly cracked with emotion as he thought of a similar photo on his own mantle, one with a dark haired woman in its frame, soundlessly twirling in a lightly falling snow. "You have entire families backing you in this endeavour. This sociopath needs to be taken down permanently, not safely ensconced in some high tower. He needs to be finished!"

The two wizards glared at each other across the length of the room before Dumbledore straightened his shoulders, his features slipping into mocking calm once more.

"Indeed. What part do you play in this?"

Charlus matched his posture, willing calmness into his tone. "I will join this group of yours and ensure all the Potter blood wards keep your motley crew safe."

"And . . .?"

Relaxing into the softly cushioned chair, Charlus crossed his ankle over his knee and watched as Dumbledore's own patience waned before continuing calmly, "And . . . I make sure your endeavours are adequately funded."

The old Professor contemplated the words for a moment as he twirled his long silver beard idly. "I see. Does James know about this?"

"He is my son, Albus, not my keeper. When James and Lily return from honeymooning, they will have their choice of Potter homes to choose from, and family vaults to meet their needs."

"And your newest ward?" He asked with a raised brow. "What of _her_?"

Charlus barely restrained his own grimace at the question, even with all he was offering, he hated to ask anything of the wizard before him and the thought of placing his young witch within arms reach of this man, light side or not, worried him. "She will relocate to the Grange. She hasn't yet finished her schooling and I was hopeful that some of your members might be willing to offer her tutelage."

"You want me to take a stranger into the heart of the resistance?" Albus scoffed. "On what? Your word that she doesn't pose a threat?"

"What would you have me do? Submit her to you for legilimency? She's barely more than a child, Albus." He could hear a pleading note enter his voice and forced it back. "She has suffered at the hands of Voldemort's followers and she is scared; I won't have you digging through the one escape that is hers and hers alone."

"Hogwarts then. If she wishes to continue her education as you say, arrangements can be made."

"And draw unwanted attention to her? No, it is not a possibility. That would be like waving a red flag. People would ask too many questions, and His servants would notice."

"There's nothing for it then. I can't expose my men and women like that. What is it about this girl that makes her so important?"

"A vow then." He argued, ignoring the question. "To me. I won't ask her to make pledges to fight your cause. She is too young and should never have seen what she already has at her age. I will ask her to make a vow to me of her honest intentions . . . you may stand witness."

Albus laughed coldly. "A vow to you, that's all you suggest? No. Simply not good enough."

"What else is there? I will not have you invading her mind."

"Veritaserum."

 _Veritaserum_. Charlus stood from the armchair and paced before the fire as he considered the option. He knew it was risky for the girl, as her secrets could spill forth with devastating consequences if the appropriate questions were asked. Still, there seemed little choice, for all he may fault Albus Dumbledore, the man was no fool and letting an unknown variable lose within the resistance was foolish by anyone's standard.

"I will speak to her about the Veritaserum. If she agrees, I must insist that you and I are to be the only ones present."

"Alastor—"

" _You and I,_ " Charlus insisted firmly, "will be the only ones present, and I am to be the only one to question her."

"You just expect me to agree?"

"I expect you to see reason!" Charlus bellowed. "You are responsible for lives, Albus. This isn't a game. You need a safe place to meet and a shelter for those at risk; I can give you that, but you need to trust me in this. My own son will be one of those men at your meetings. He, his new wife, the only family I have left in this world. You think I would risk their safety?"

"If the Grange does serve as safe house and headquarters, she will see things."

"Yes." Charlus sighed heavily as he sank into the plush chair feeling every one of his ninety-nine years seeping into his bones. "Yes, but she won't have to fight."

The air was heavy with unspoken words, hazel eyes meeting blue across the dimly lit room, both worn and tired.

"Fine," Albus conceded. "But let it be known that this is against my better judgement." -

* * *

 **24 July 1978**

A loud crack echoed through the highland valley as a lone man appeared on a well-worn road. Shoulders hunching against the summer rain, he made his way swiftly over the boggy path before disappearing into the tree line.

The path was a familiar one for young Remus Lupin, for seven years it had meant he was heading home, to a place where he was welcomed, admired, and even envied. Now, as he made his way up the steeply inclining trail, the creeping shadows and eerie silence reminded him of what he truly was. He knew it, just as the creatures now hiding away in the surrounding dark forest knew: he was the predator here; he was the one to be feared. He lowered his head now out of shame more than for shelter, and hefted his way through the silent wood, on towards the looming castle in the distance.

The falling rains grew lighter, and the gates of Hogwarts Castle showed themselves through the parting trees. Remus pulled his wand from beneath the dripping sleeve of his threadbare robes to cast a quick Drying Charm along with a Warming Spell to ease his aching muscles, before casting one last spell: a wisp of silvery smoke to alert the groundskeeper of his arrival.

He reached the gates just as Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys, heaved open the heavy ironwork, and he passed through with a polite nod to the friendly half-giant.

"Back again so soon? Miss the ol' place, did yeh?" The burly man laughed as he placed a large hand on Remus's thin shoulder, causing him to sag slightly under its weight.

"I do miss the elves' cooking," Remus offered. "And the prefect's bath."

Hagrid scratched at his broad jaw as he peered into the forest beyond the gates. "It's not the same 'round here when yeh kids er' gone. Too quiet, yeh notice that?"

"Yeah, I noticed," Remus murmured. "I'm here to see Professor Dumbledore. He owled me earlier."

"Too right, he did. Came down fer tea and ter borrow me owl this mornin'. Told me ter be expecting yeh," Hagrid informed him proudly as he locked the gates and proceeded to lead Remus along the path to the school, which loomed ever larger in the twilit sky.

The two men walked side by side till they reached a split in the path, with a firm handshake and a quaking pat to the back Hagrid veered right heading for his hut as Remus continued on through the rapidly darkening grounds both eager and anxious to meet with his former headmaster.

* * *

Breathing deeply as he entered the familiar halls of Hogwarts Castle, Remus relaxed into the steady thrum of residual magic that places such as this tended to gather over the years. He would venture even a Muggle could pick up on its vibrations— were they able to find the castle in the first place.

The path up to the headmaster's office was a familiar one and, lost to his thoughts, Remus soon found himself standing upon the spiraling staircase as it slowly rotated upward, the familiar gargoyle leaping back into place below him. Reaching the top swiftly, Remus had barely lifted the brass knocker when the heavy oaken door swung open before him, revealing the headmaster's large circular office. It was just as he had last seen it, full of curious silver instruments on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting puffs of smoke and odd little noises, the air warm and rich with the earthy smell of burning peat. And there, beyond the walls, covered with the dozing portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, sat comfortably behind his enormous, claw-footed desk was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, absentmindedly picking through a small candy dish.

"Ah!" Dumbledore looked up with a twinkle in his blue eyes and a smile at his lips as he held up a small yellow sweet. "Always hidden so well among its fellows, but I find it every time . . . would you care for a sherbet lemon, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus considered the proffered treat curiously for a moment before shaking his head. "No thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore shrugged before popping the small sour confection into his mouth and settling himself back into a large floral wing-chair, gesturing to its mate opposite the large desk as he did so. "Please, sit Mr. Lupin. The elves have just brought up some tea. Won't you join me in a cup?"

The two men quietly sipped at their drinks for a time before the headmaster placed his teacup gently upon its saucer, levelling Remus with an intense look. "I was surprised not to have seen you Thursday evening."

The suddenly stern voice and cool eyes of his former headmaster caused Remus to falter slightly, his tea splashing over the sides of his cup to scald his fingers. "No. I . . . my father offered use of the old shed behind his house. It's . . . the Ministry placed very strong wards on it when I was . . . small."

"I see. Of course." The Headmaster's cool composition melted away smoothly leaving behind not a trace as he smiled warmly, eyes holding a familiar twinkle once more. "I seem to recall the event. Well, that sounds lovely, I'm sure it was nice to be so close to family."

Remus thought briefly of his father's drunken rantings filtering through the dilapidated old shed, held together with not much more than Auror level wardings, while he sat naked and alone waiting for the moon to take him. "Yes," he outwardly agreed. "Of course, It's always nice to be with family."

"Indeed. Though, in the future, I _will_ need to know where you are during your monthly transformations. Some things have come to light as of late and, should they continue to progress, I'll need to reach you swiftly as I may have need of you for a . . . special task."

Remus felt a slight unease settle in his gut. There had been whispers in the Order, those suggesting something be done to tame the more wild of his kind. He'd hoped they were just rumours, ideas that would ultimately lead nowhere. The fact was, he feared being sent to interact with his _own kind_. He wasn't sure he would survive long amongst them. They didn't take well to wizards; surely, a werewolf playing wizard wouldn't sit well.

 _No_ , he thought, _not well at all_.

"I apologise," he said as he absentmindedly ran his thumb back and forth over a small chip in the handle of his cup. "I wasn't sure the Shrieking Shack was still available for my use, as I am no longer a student."

"Nonsense," Dumbledore insisted as he began to dig through his crystal candy dish once more. "As long as the Whomping Willow stands guard, you are welcome to make use of the home in Hogsmeade for your transformations. She will continue to offer her protections to the children of this school, as the Shrieking Shack will keep you safely contained."

Remus fidgeted in his seat as the elder wizard continued to dig through the small dish idly, the constant drone of the many small silver instruments blending neatly into white noise, leaving him to contemplate the headmaster's words.

"The special task, Professor, can you tell me anything about it? Are you sure you should entrust it to someone . . . like me?"

Dumbledore settled back into his chair slowly, placing a confection into his mouth as he did so, his wisened eyes never straying from the young werewolf. "Society may not be ready to recognise your talents at this time, but do not presume they are nonexistent."

"Sir, I—"

"You have a unique skill set, Mr. Lupin. Your condition gives you abilities other wizards have to use potions and spells to achieve. You are also vastly intelligent and, thanks to your choice in friends, quite addapt at going about unnoticed should the timing call for such a thing. These are all qualities that shall serve us well . . . should the need arise." The headmaster held his gaze for a moment before his mood seemed to shift once more. "Now then, tell me, when is the last time you payed a visit to Mr. Potter?"

"James?"

"No, no, no." Albus's laugh was hearty, if not a bit too loud. "I may be an old man, but even I know young people like to enjoy their honeymooning alone. I was enquiring as to the senior Mr. Potter. Word is he's not fairing too well since his wife's passing."

"Charlus? No, I haven't seen him since the wedding. With finding a job and the moons, I'm afraid I haven't given him much thought," Remus admitted as he felt a heavy guilt settle into his stomach at the thought of the man who had shown him such kindness through the years, suffering in that old house alone.

"Ah, I see. Well, I'm sure he is doing just fine," Albus assured him with a wide smile before reaching for the tea service "Another cup?"

* * *

 **28 July 1978**

The road to Potter House was quiet as Hermione walked slowly along, head tipped back, basking in the warm rays of the afternoon sun. She had begun exploring the grounds of the old manor on her third day in this timeline, and eventually ventured past its meandering stone walls and down the lane to the small Muggle village nearby. What began as a sort of adventure, soon became habit as she found she could lose herself to the soothing rhythm of trainers on pavement, free to let her mind wander without constant reminders of just when she was and with whom she was living.

Mr. Potter . . . Charlus, she reminded herself once more, had proven to be a kind and welcoming host, allowing her free roam of his property and—to her surprise— expansive library. While he always welcomed her with a warm smile, his eyes held sadness. She had been in the 1970's for almost two weeks before Maisy had shared with her details regarding the unexpected passing of Mrs. Potter just a few months prior.

The woman, she was told, had always been fond of children, and as her own son grew and went off to Hogwarts, she began to visit the children's orphanage in the nearby village. It was here that she had contracted measles and, having already been on in her age, she had succumbed to the Muggle disease before the Healers at St. Mungo's had successfully managed to convert a cure for magical use. The Potters had been devastated. However, while James was left at Hogwarts with his friends and girlfriend to comfort him, Mr. Potter had been left alone, closing himself off to those around him and hiding away in his home hidden amongst the Muggles, safely tucked away from the Wizarding world.

 _Till I showed up_.

She kicked absentmindedly at a loose stone lying on the pavement, watching as it skittered across the narrow lane before it was lost to the tall grass edging the road. Her brow furrowed as her mood darkened despite the beautiful cloudless skies.

 _So much for letting my mind wander from my problems_.

She'd been here a month— _just_ a month—and no matter how hard she tried, and as kind as Charlus was, her mind always found its way back to the same thoughts: she _should_ be home with her parents, _or_ making plans to visit the Burrow . . . anything. But here she stood, lost in 1978, wandering aimlessly along a rural country road. Her life as she had known it might as well have been a dream at this point; she saw no hope to return. Charlus had graced over the subject of possible return, urging her instead to embrace life in the 1970's as her new reality. The future was lost to her now, he'd said, because—as everybody knew—you could not go forward in time.

Hermione's fingers tingled and itched as magic flowed over her skin. Raw emotions forcing her magic into an upheaval, sending it washing over her in nauseating, pulsing waves. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Frustration.

If she had been stronger, she would have stopped Harry from going to the Ministry.

A better witch could have stopped the curse from shattering the Time-Turners.

Had she been smarter . . .

She smiled bitterly. Had she been smarter, she'd have found a way back.

She dropped her head back and screamed into the mockingly cheerful day. Falling to her knees in the long grass, she let the tears she had fought to overcome since her arrival here flow freely. The echoing sounds of her distress dissipated, hidden in the grasses and tall hedgerows that bordered the country road.

"Right on time. Good, that's very good," an unexpected voice spoke from behind her.

Hermione fell to her bottom at the sudden voice, struggling to pull her wand from its hidden sleeve as she spun around to face the voice coming from a young man she was sure had not been standing there a moment earlier.

He stood casually on the opposite side of the lane, eyes focused on an old pocket watch that occasionally let out small puffs of blue smoke.

 _Wizard_ , her startled mind supplied as her knuckles began to whiten in the grip with which she grasped her wand.

A mass of soft golden curls hung over his eyes and he huffed a breath of air trying to clear them from his vision.

Hermione was struck with the strangest sensation of deja vu at the small unconscious movement. "I-I know you . . ."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Wow, formating nightmare right here! For some reason every time this chapter was edited it decided to revert or some other nonsense, but there it is. Hope you all like it, please let me know! Your feed back is so important!


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